


there'll never be (a lonely night again)

by godsensei



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alcohol, Christmas Vacation, Comedy, Cuban Lance (Voltron), Cultural References, Dancing, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Family Feels, GFY, Hijinks & Shenanigans, House Party, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Insecure Lance (Voltron), Japanese Shiro (Voltron), M/M, Mutual Pining, Romance, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Slow Dancing, Tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 00:58:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 50,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19367041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/godsensei/pseuds/godsensei
Summary: “Hey,” Matt interrupts, “Shiro can do it!”Everyone’s head swivels toward the aforementioned man at once.He blinks.“What?” he asks.“You were just complaining to me that you were stuck here for the holidays— why don’t you help Lance out?” Matt asks, and Lance is very suddenly unsure. He has a bad feeling about this.





	there'll never be (a lonely night again)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pythagoreanpineapple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pythagoreanpineapple/gifts).



> This is the longest fic I've ever written, and I started it off by saying, "It shouldn't take too long!" See what had happened was... my friend Sami never got a Christmas exchange gift for whatever reason and a month or so later, I said, "Well, I can try to make up for it despite not signing up for the exchange— what were her prompts?" 
> 
> Then I incorporated everything she asked for and then some, even though it took, like... six months.
> 
> I'm incredibly proud of myself for pushing through intense anxiety and the subsequent depression I experienced after trying to save and subsequently losing my cat, Jade. 
> 
> I did as much research on Cuba and Christmas in Cuba as I could. There was not a whole lot of info on it, but I tried my best to respect the culture, seeing as I'm not Cuban! It was really interesting, however, learning about how they celebrate Christmas, some of their familial customs, terms of endearment, and places of interest. I took some liberties in making up diners and zoos, although some of the places mentioned are real (I Google Map'd everything, including where I thought Lance might live). I do not know Spanish (however much I wish I did), so some of the phrases I scoured the internet for. I also enjoyed listening to some "Latin Pop" music (courtesy of a Youtube playlist), where I fell in love with Natti Natasha and Becky G. 
> 
>  
> 
> **If you see anything that is offensive or culturally insensitive, please let me know! I will change it immediately.**
> 
>  
> 
> That being said, my goal was to create something that Sami would enjoy and I hope that she enjoys this because she deserves wonderful things as she's such a lovely, beautiful human being. A huge thank you to Sabrina (aka @SabrinaSaysHii on Twitter), who helped with a few of the ideas, and to Mii, who helped cheer me on when I complained.

“You’re coming home for Christmas this year, right?” is the dreaded question that sets it all in motion. 

 

Lance can hear the expectation of _everyone_ in his family in Veronica’s voice. He knows exactly what she looks like right now, one eyebrow cocked as she cradles the phone with her shoulder (always doing something, always moving). 

 

He holds back the groan in his throat, scrunching his face as he pulls the phone away from his ear and taps it against his forehead. 

 

It’s not that he doesn’t love his family, and it’s certainly not that he doesn’t want to see them. He _always_ wants to see them… but there’s something about the holidays that makes everyone seem crazier than usual, and his family is no exception. 

 

His family is the textbook _definition_ of crazy during the holidays. 

 

The last holiday he’d spent with them, which had been Easter, had been a near disaster. His mom had cried all over the Easter ham when he announced that his leave would be a bit longer than usual. No Labor Day, no Mother’s Day, no visits for anything. 

 

Then she’d cried even _harder_ when he said he wasn’t actively looking for anyone else to date. Ever since Allura, he’d been celibate, both sexually _and_ romantically (though he’d kept that information to himself). 

 

“I just want you to be happy and secure!” She’d wailed. “Who else is going to give me more grandbabies? Veronica is adamant about not having kids!” Lance had avoided pointing out her other unmarried children if only because they’d chokeslam him through a table for the betrayal. 

 

Every time he comes home for the holiday without a date, his mother bursts into tears or goes off on a tangent and Lance just… he’s had a rough year. He does _not_ want to deal with that. He loves his mother, but… he just _can’t_. Plus, it’s just _embarrassing_.

 

It’s not like they hadn’t split amicably. Allura had wanted something different and Lance _wouldn’t_ be the person that held her back. She had always been destined for great things, and being stationed in different places, the long distance relationship— it just hadn’t worked out. 

 

Doesn’t mean that it didn’t hurt like hell. 

 

The past year had been a year of healing, of figuring out who he was without her. It’d also been a year of promotions and new friendships. He’d been stationed with Hunk (his best friend since, uh, _forever_ ) under Samuel Holt, a senior science officer, in charge of a faraway mission (both literally and figuratively) to one of Pluto’s moons, Kerberos. With Sam came Pidge (his daughter), Matt (his son), Keith (a pain in the ass), and Shiro.

 

Friendship with Pidge came naturally, mostly because Hunk had taken a liking to her. Matt followed suit, and, grudgingly, Keith. 

 

Shiro had taken a bit longer, but only because he held _himself_ at arm’s length. Lance barreled through his defenses though, as he does. Nobody can resist Lancey-Lance. 

 

...once he stops referring to himself as Lancey-Lance. 

 

“Laaaance,” Veronica’s tinny voice whines, bringing him back to the present. He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

 

“I don’t know-- it’s really busy around here?” Hm. He shouldn’t have made that sound like a question. 

 

“Mmhmm,” Veronica hums, sounding like she doesn’t believe him. “I don’t believe you.” 

 

“Well, why don’t _you_ try to soothe Mom when I tell her I’m not pregnant?” Lance asks, scribbling furiously on the piece of paper in front of him. He’s in the break room at the moment. There’s no one else in here but him, everyone else in the mess hall for lunch. 

 

“I’ve already dedicated enough of my time to _that_ mission,” Veronica grumbles. She sighs explosively. “We _all_ miss you, Lance.”

 

Damn it. His family knows _exactly_ how to get him to do what they want. 

 

“Veronicaaaaaaa,” he whines, his head slumping against the table in front of him. 

 

“It’ll be fine. I’ll try to save you from Mom when I can, but you owe me. I expect one million doll--”

 

Lance snorts. “Pshyeah, I’m sooner to leave for Kerberos.”

 

“Worth a shot! But I expect a _fantastic_ Christmas present.”

 

“I feel like I’m the only one losing here,” Lance deadpans, before lifting his head. “Alright. I’ll be there.”

 

“Great! Glad you’re _still_ doing my bidding, my young apprentice!”

 

“Fuck off, you will,” Lance says in his poorest Yoda imitation, hanging up. He shakes his head. 

 

He just _knows_ this is going to be _unbearable._

 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

 

The din of the mess hall, while grating to others, has always been comforting to Lance. He’s in his element where it’s loud and everyone else is _also_ being obnoxious. That means _he_ can be obnoxious without people griping at him too much. 

 

Which is why Pidge is narrowing her eyes at him— because he’s _not_ being obnoxious, which is abnormal. 

 

He scoops (what he thinks is) mashed potatoes into his mouth, avoiding her gaze. It’s all leftovers from Thanksgiving… he _thinks_.

 

“You okay, buddy?” Hunk asks, betraying him. Curse his friends for caring about his well-being!

 

He swallows (hopefully mashed potatoes) and puts his fork down, steepling his fingers. 

 

“I’m dying,” he says, pressing his index fingers to his mouth after the confession. 

 

“Here we go,” Pidge says, rolling her eyes. 

 

“Aw, dude! Don’t say that. Whatever it is, I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Hunk soothes, God bless him. He just doesn’t understand what Lance is about to face. The siblings, the alcohol, the dishes, the multiple family members asking him about a romance he _just_ doesn’t have... 

 

“What’s going on?” Keith asks as he slides into the vacant seat in front of Lance. 

 

“Lance is dying,” Pidge comments, tapping out a text on her phone. 

 

“Here we go,” Keith says.

 

“That’s what _I_ said,” Pidge points out, and Hunk shushes them. 

 

“What happened?” he asks. 

 

Lance groans. “I have to go home for Christmas,” he laments and receives blank stares for his trouble. 

 

“...am I missing something?” Keith asks. 

 

“Dude, you don’t get it. I love my family, but the holidays are freaking _insane_.” 

 

“You’re being a _baby_ ,” Pidge says. 

 

“What’s new?” Keith asks, smirking. 

 

“Watch it, mullet,” Lance warns, pointing a finger at him. “My family is really nosy and also, like, _obsessed_ with love? Mom keeps trying to get me to have _grandchildren_. Does it seem like I need children-- Keith, don’t fucking say it!”

 

Keith shuts his open mouth. 

 

“You can’t just tell them you’re not interested in romance right now?” Hunk asks, trying to be a voice of reason. He would, for he’s only a small, naive, tiny, tiny, innocent baby boy with hopes and dreams. 

 

“I would, but then Mom would burst into tears and everyone would make remarks and it’d be super embarrassing.”

 

“What would be super embarrassing?” Matt asks as he slides into his seat beside Lance. Shiro sits beside Keith, smiling at everyone as he does. 

 

Lance swallows, willing his stupid, dumb, _stupid_ heart to stop doing _flips_ every damn time he sees Shiro’s _stupid_ , handsome face. They’re just friends and that’s all Lance is going to allow himself to think. If he has to avoid his feelings about this forever, he _damn_ well will!

 

“Lance being single,” Pidge answers, _still_ not looking up from her phone. 

 

“That’s _not_ what I said,” Lance pouts, and Hunk rubs at his back. 

 

“Yeah, dude, we’re _all_ single,” Matt points out, meatloaf ketchup on his face drawing Lance’s eyes. Right. He wonders why.

 

“Lance’s family won’t stop badgering him about his private life,” Keith explains to Shiro, whose eyebrows have been raised since he sat down. 

 

“You know what you should do?” Matt prefaces, and everyone makes a noise at once. “What!? My ideas aren’t that bad!”

 

“They’re not good, either,” Pidge says, finally looking up. 

 

“I was _going_ to _say_ ,” he emphasizes, drawing his eyes away from Pidge onto Lance, “you should bring someone with you to act as your fake date.”

 

“Ha!” Lance shouts, but then… wait a minute. 

 

If he had a fake date… the possibilities run through his head, and he can’t seem to find a reason why it _wouldn’t_ work. 

 

“But… who would be my pretend… partner?”

 

“Well, it’s gotta be someone that knows you pretty well,” Matt says, “and they’d have to be comfortable holding hands and maybe kissing you?”

 

Lance looks at Hunk. 

 

Hunk immediately holds his hands up. 

 

“Dude, I love you and you know I’d totally do it, but I’m also going home for Christmas? It’s been a while since we’ve all seen our families.” Hunk smiles at him apologetically. Darn his cute, cuddly, trustworthy face. Lance forgives him immediately for the deeply troubling _knife_ he just stabbed into his back. 

 

“Don’t even think about asking Matt, OR me,” Pidge says, setting her phone on the table. “We’re working on a project with Dad over the holiday. Also, kissing you would be _kinda_ weird.”

 

“So you’ve thought about it,” Lance says, narrowly dodging Pidge’s plastic fork that flies through the air at him.

 

“I’m going to see my mom,” Keith says, his voice atypically soft. He looks happy, even if his face looks weird like that. Lance is happy for him. He’d finally located his biological mother after years of searching, and it’s great news that they’re spending the holiday together. 

 

“You weren’t even in the running, but… congrats,” Lance says, trying not to sound _too_ invested unless Keith thinks he’s going soft on him. That wouldn’t do. 

 

“Yeah, dude, that’s awesome,” Hunk agrees, grabbing at Lance’s dinner roll without asking. Lance lets him, though he _rolls_ his eyes in response, aha _ha._  

 

“Hey,” Matt interrupts, “Shiro can do it!”

 

Everyone’s head swivels toward the aforementioned man at once. 

 

He blinks. 

 

“What?” he asks. 

 

“You were _just_ complaining to me that you were stuck here for the holidays-- why don’t you help Lance out?” Matt asks, and Lance is very suddenly unsure. He has a bad feeling about this.

 

“Oh, I--” Shiro begins, but Lance cuts him off.

 

“Dude, you definitely don’t have to do that. Like, I don’t want to ruin your holiday. My family is an _event_.” He chuckles, trying to make light of the situation, though his laughter trails off the more he thinks about it. 

 

“I think it’d be a great idea!” Hunk chimes in, not understanding that Lance doesn’t _know_ if he can handle being that close to Shiro for that long. He’s good at keeping his messy feelings to himself because it’s easy to get away here at the Garrison. It’s easy to keep his distance. 

 

With Shiro in his _childhood_ home, in close quarters, _pretending_ to be his boyfriend? What if they have to kiss? 

 

Fuck, he didn’t think this through!!

 

“Uh, Hunk--?” Lance starts, but now it’s _his_ turn to be cut off. By Shiro, no less. 

 

“I don’t... really have anything to do for the holidays,” he says, shocking Lance to silence. 

 

Is he saying… he’ll do it?

 

He knows his mouth is hanging wide open, but he just didn’t expect…

 

“Wait, you’ll seriously do it?” Lance asks. He never pictured Shiro as the type of person to go along with something like this, considering how responsible he is. Don’t get him wrong, he knows Shiro can be mischievous and get dirty when he needs to. But posing as his boyfriend at a holiday event…? _Lying_ to a group of strangers?

 

“It sounds like more fun than I’d be having here. Is… that okay?” Shiro asks, face morphing to concern as he rubs the back of his neck. 

 

“Dude, yeah, it’s fine!” Lance’s mouth betrays him. It’s just that Shiro’s face? He can’t say no??

 

“This is the best idea I’ve ever had,” Matt brags. 

 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

 

This is the _worst_ idea Matt’s ever had, and that’s _saying_ something because he’s had some pretty spectacular bad ideas. 

 

(Nobody will ever talk about the Great Chemistry Lab Plan of 2017, as well they shouldn’t.)

 

It’s just... the more Lance has thought over this throughout the past week, the less sure he is it’s going to work out. Mostly because of himself. Pretty much exclusively because of himself. 

 

He _likes_ Shiro. He hasn’t _liked_ anyone since Allura and getting over _her_ had been damn near impossible. 

 

Avoiding Shiro (through taking opportune moments to slip away when he’s getting overwhelmed with _adoration_ ) has been Lance’s go-to defense against catching feelings, though apparently he’s done a pretty bang up job on that. 

 

Shiro is _fun_ to hang out with, though, like _genuinely_ a good time. He’s so stinkin’ funny, with this really quiet sense of humor that sneaks up on you and Lance never knows when he’s going to be crying with laughter when Shiro is in the room. He’s responsible, going from 0 to 100, real quick (whole squad on that real shit), taking over situations with natural leadership capabilities, and it’s all Lance can do not to pack his shit and live life as a desert hobo, like Obi-wan Kenobi. (No offense to Keith’s dad, but full offense to Keith.)

 

Kindness? Shiro has it in spades. 

 

_Plus,_ he’s so handsome Lance doesn’t know how to function normally when he’s giving Lance his singular attention. He can be having a conversation with Shiro, but his hands are doing a sick drum beat (otherwise known as fidgeting). Shiro could be explaining Kerberos’ atmosphere, and Lance ends up cha-cha-ing real smooth, in place, like an idiot. It makes no sense, but Lance has always been _ridiculous_ around people he finds even _remotely_ attractive. 

 

So this trip? An absolute shit idea. 

 

Is Lance canceling? Absolutely fucking not. 

 

There’s no _way_ he could turn down _this_ much alone time with Takashi Shirogane. The man is a joy and a blessing. You don’t look a blessing in the face and say, “hey totally not down for you to be my fake boyfriend.”

 

He’s just going to do what he usually does in any crisis: chicken wing it. 

 

Which is how he finds himself, a week after Matt’s horrific meddling, standing bleary-eyed in front of Shiro’s dorm room, all of his luggage surrounding him as he waits for Shiro to answer the door. 

 

It doesn’t take long. 

 

“Good morning,” Shiro greets him when the door swings open. Shiro looks like he’s been awake for hours and _isn’t_ about to pass out on his feet. He _would_ be a morning person, Lance thinks sourly. 

 

“Mgh,” Lance responds because only a few of his brain cells are firing off right now. He shuffles inside, leaving his luggage outside because _only a few of his brain cells are firing off right now._

 

It’s like 4 am, he reasons that nobody is even going to be awake _to_ steal it. 

 

“I’ve got everything packed but I’m making us some coffee before we leave. I got some disposable to-go cups,” Shiro says, being absolutely perfect in every way. 

 

“Thank you so much,” Lance whispers, draping himself over Shiro’s kitchen counter. 

 

He must actually fall asleep slumped over, because one moment he’s relishing the smell of freshly brewing coffee and another moment he’s being gently shaken awake. 

 

“Sorry!” He shoots up, wiping at his mouth in case he drooled. 

 

“Considering how many times you’ve been late to work, it’s not surprising that you’re not much of a morning person. Can’t blame you, though. It _is_ pretty early,” Shiro says, smiling conspiratorially, like he doesn’t have his shit together either. God bless him, he’s so sweet. “Here.”

 

He hands Lance a warm, insulated cup of coffee. 

 

“Yesssss,” Lance hisses, pressing the cup against his face. Toasty. 

 

“You ready?” Shiro asks, lugging a book bag over his shoulder and grabbing another large piece of luggage with his other hand. 

 

Is he ready to curl up into Shiro’s bedsheets and sleep for 10 hours? Yes. 

 

“Yeah, let’s go,” Lance says instead, turning off Shiro’s kitchen light for him and following him out. 

 

Oh yeah. _His_ luggage. 

 

“I’ll have to come back up for this other one,” Lance says, as he dips down with his free hand to pick up one of his suitcases. 

 

“I’ll get it,” Shiro says, and somehow manages to grab it, along with his own, without spilling his coffee. 

 

What a strong, sexy man. 

 

Lance tries not to think about it too much as he makes his way down Shiro’s flight of stairs and to his car. The car is already on— Shiro probably went down to warm it up while Lance nodded off to dreamland on his kitchen counter. 

 

_Someone’s_ gotta be classy and it’s definitely not Lance anytime before 10 am. 

 

It’s quiet on the roads, only one or two poor souls passing them by, probably work commute. The dark makes it feel somehow intimate, and Lance looks at Shiro’s profile in the limited lighting of streetlights passing by. He looks calm, dark lashes brushing the tips of his cheekbones as he blinks.

 

Shiro must see him looking in his peripheral vision, because he turns his head for a moment, grinning at him before looking back to the road. 

 

“You excited to see your family? You talk about them all the time.”

 

“I love seeing them, but they can be a lot,” Lance admits. “That’s a warning, by the way.”

 

“Hey,” Shiro laughs, “if I can handle our team, I can handle your family.”

 

Lance scoffs, “ _Please_ , we are _angels._ ” 

 

“Oh, is that how we’re describing it? Is Keith an angel?” Shiro asks, and Lance sputters. 

 

“UH, _no._ Spiders Keith, who lives in a cave & eats over 10,000 spiders each day, is an outlier and should not have been counted.” 

 

Shiro looks like he’s trying not to laugh, but he’s failing miserably. 

 

“Hey, uh,” Lance begins, “you know, for this to work, we have to… to act like a couple, right?” 

 

“I wouldn’t have said yes if I weren’t prepared for pretending to be your date,” Shiro says amicably. “Are _you_ okay with it?”

 

“Yeah, psh-- yeah, totally,” he says, voice warbling. Shiro gives him the side-eye. 

 

“...And I’m also fine with it,” Shiro continues, “Whatever you need from me, within _reason_ ,” he tacks on at the end, knowing Lance’s track record. Lance can’t help being a creative genius. 

 

“I can’t believe we’re actually doing this. You’re saving me from a lot of grief. Hey, why _are_ you doing this, anyway?” Lance asks, genuinely curious. 

 

“I didn’t have any holiday plans,” Shiro shrugs, running his hand down the wheel to click on his blinker. “It gets pretty empty around the Garrison during Christmas and it seemed like you needed the help anyway.”

 

“You don’t… is your family…?” 

 

“Yes,” Shiro answers. 

 

He’s quiet for a moment, thinking of what sort of child Shiro was like growing up. 

 

“Were you close?” Lance asks, in lieu of the standard apology. He knows from experience that apologies for loss don’t mean a whole lot in the grand scheme. Grief is too personal for any one person to relate to completely. 

 

“Not like families should be, probably,” Shiro admits, “but I know they loved me in their own way.”

 

“I think it’s hard for most parents to love their children exactly the way their children need them to,” Lance says. “Like… they love how they _understand_ love, and sometimes that’s not the way their children understand love? If that makes sense?”

 

Shiro looks over at him briefly, seemingly surprised. 

 

“Yes,” he agrees. 

 

“I mean, it’s not like they do it on purpose, most times. It’s just the way of the world-- oh hey! There’s the exit!”

 

The bright green, reflective sign is pointing them in the direction of the airport, which Lance can see in the distance. 

 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

 

 

Traveling to Cuba goes as smoothly as one could hope, given that it’s _traveling._ They’d had to book it to their first flight and then had a 3-hour layover in Miami, where they ate some lunch, took some selfies, and tried on some seriously interesting sets of tourist hats and sunglasses to stave off the boredom. Lance _did_ fall asleep during the second flight and drooled on Shiro’s shoulder for at least an hour. He only knows he did because Shiro took a picture of it and put it as his home screen background. 

 

“For believability,” Shiro had explained with a shit-eating grin, showing Lance the most embarrassing thing he’d ever seen. His mouth had been parted, head cushioned on Shiro’s shoulder as Shiro gave the camera a smile and a victory sign. 

 

Lance had tried to grab his phone as quickly as possible, but Shiro had held the phone over his head, unfortunately too high for Lance to reach.

 

After going through the necessary security at the airport and the long, arduous torture of customs, Shiro and Lance are _finally_ here. 

 

Both of them are understandably exhausted, the general stress from trying to make flights and then sitting all day in a cramped aircraft getting to them. Despite that, Lance takes a deep breath, the surety of _home_ settling him.

 

“I have _no_ clue who’s picking us up. Just be warned? It might be embarrassing,” Lance says, readjusting his grip on his luggage. He _hopes_ it isn’t embarrassing, but he can’t tame any of the McClains, as surely as nobody can tame _him_. 

 

“I’m just ready to be anywhere but a plane seat,” Shiro says, eyes constantly moving as he takes in their surroundings. 

 

“ _Your_ giant muscles were taking up all the room. _I’m_ the one who should be saying that,” Lance points out, Shiro lifting his brows and then laughing. 

 

“My muscles seemed pretty comfortable when you passed out on them,” he teases, and Lance has the decency to at least blush. He waves his hand in dismissal.

 

“The engine lulled me to sleep.”

 

“Whatever helps you sleep on another man’s shoulder,” Shiro says. 

 

“I don’t want to have to fight you on my home turf, but I will,” Lance jokes. “As it is, my luggage is preventing me from laying the smackdown.”

 

Shiro is about to reply, but he squints into the distance instead.

 

“That sign says Lance on it,” Shiro says, pointing. Lance follows the direction of his arm, spotting Veronica, who hasn’t seen them yet. 

 

“That’s us!” Lance says, grabbing at Shiro’s arm to pull him closer. “C’mon!”

 

He slows to a saunter as he gets to her, reluctantly letting go of Shiro.

 

“Say, lady,” he directs at Veronica. “You lookin’ for someone?”

 

Veronica’s eye light upon him and she smirks, folding her sign. 

 

“‘Bout time you got here,” she says. “Mom has been texting me every five seconds, asking if her ‘baby boy is home yet’.” 

 

“Uh, can you _not_ embarrass me in front of my boyfriend?” he asks, and Veronica’s eyebrows almost hit her hairline. 

 

“What? _Boyfriend_?” she asks, completely looking past Shiro, who has been standing there for a minute. She even stands on her tippy-toes to look _over_ Shiro’s shoulder. 

 

“Surprise!” Lance says, making jazz hands. Veronica just looks at him like he’s crazy. 

 

“Where is he?” 

 

Lance looks at Shiro, who is pursing his lips and trying not to laugh. 

 

“You know, this guy who’s been standing here?” he points at Shiro, and Veronica finally phases him into the equation, blinking at him. 

 

“ _This_ is your boyfriend?” is what she chooses to say. Not ‘nice Lance!’ or ‘cool, also missed you, bro!’, but ‘ _this_ is your boyfriend’? As if Lance is not fully capable of landing someone as hot as Shiro. 

 

Lance dated _Allura_ , for fuck’s sake. She was stunning in every possible way. 

 

“I’ll have you know he is completely in my league,” Lance says, fully understanding that he’s absolutely _not_. “Right, Shiro?” 

 

“You’re out of _my_ league, babe,” Shiro says, and Lance’s heart jumps, the nonchalant ‘babe’ throwing him off. Get it together, buddy. 

 

“What is happening.” 

 

“Hi, nice to meet you… Veronica?” Shiro asks, holding a hand out to her and Lance looks at him in surprise. How did he know she was Veronica? 

 

“Got it in one!” she says, shaking his hand vigorously. “I gotta say, I knew Lance was hiding something, I just didn’t know it was a whole relationship. He’s usually a lot more forthcoming with personal affairs.”

 

“That was because of me. I’m used to keeping my relationships private, for the most part,” Shiro assures her, and Lance has to refrain from letting his mouth drop open. Who is this clever con artist in Shiro’s body? “What better time to announce a relationship than the holidays, right?”

 

“How much is he paying you to be his date?” Veronica asks, and Lance’s heart jumps into his throat, eyes widening. 

 

“Ex-excuse me?” Lance croaks, trying to sound outraged and not like he’s freaking out. They haven’t even been here for a day and they’ve been found out. 

 

“I’m just _kidding,_ ” Veronica laughs, “thank you for your charity work, Shiro.”

 

“I am a _joy_ to be with!” Lance defends, inwardly breathing a sigh of relief, and Shiro squeezes his shoulder, smiling at him. 

 

“Mom’ll be thrilled. She’s been talking about matchmaking since Lance mentioned he was coming home.”

 

“You mean when you emotionally blackmailed me into coming? Nice to see you, too, by the way,” he says, as he goes in for a hug. Veronica squeezes him extra tightly, holding his shoulders as he steps back. 

 

“You’ve gotten broader, Lancey-Lance,” she teases. Lance suddenly looks at her as if they’re in a soap opera, and he’s the star. 

 

“I've killed a hell of a lot of people to get to this point,” Lance says dramatically, lowering his voice. “But I have only one more. The last one, the one we’re about to drive to now. The only one left. And when I arrive at my destination, I am gonna kill… Luis.”

 

“Going for a rematch, huh? Think you can take him?”

 

“Duh,” Lance says, dropping character. “I have _daily_ training now. _Some_ of it with Shiro here.”

 

They both look at Shiro, their eyes roving over his _very_ solid, _very_ built frame. He lifts a brow at them, honestly looking as if he wants to shield his body from their very liberal gazes. 

 

“Mmm, _maybe_ I’ll bet on you this time,” Veronica suggests, letting him go and motioning for them to follow. The parking lot is big, and the sun is beating down on the tarmac just like Lance remembers. 

 

“My older brother, Luis, and I always have an arm wrestling match--”

 

“Technically, the whole family is involved, but Lance has made it his personal mission to defeat Luis, who is the undefeated McClain arm wrestling champ.”

 

“--and _this_ time, I’m fully prepared to die in order to win.”

 

“Ay, tremendo paquete.” Veronica rolls her eyes. She looks at Shiro, saying, “I forgot how dramatic he is.”

 

“He certainly is that,” Shiro agrees.

 

“Hey! No ganging up on me. I’m sensitive!” 

 

Veronica pulls her keys from her pocket, clicking the unlock button on his mom’s van. 

 

“Sorry for the lame ride, but my car is in the shop,” Veronica apologizes. 

 

“We’ve driven _worse_ ,” Lance says, thinking of the many Garrison vehicles the facility just doesn’t want to get rid of it. Education budget and all that.

 

They pile their luggage into the back and Shiro buckles in, Lance settling in beside him, instead of in the front as he’d usually do. Veronica gives him a look in the rear-view, and he grins at her as they start their journey.

 

A wave of excitement washes over Lance, like it always does the closer he gets to his childhood home. He _loves_ it here, the long stretch of road from Juan G. Gómez Airport to his family’s generous farmhouse sparking memories that brings him waves of nostalgia. 

 

He had a great childhood, but only because everyone in his family pitched in to make it work. Money, food, clothes, raising kids, and love had all been a shared effort in the McClain household, and Lance has always felt more blessed because of it. Everything from the sea breeze to the greenery passing by makes him long to see his family even more. He’s surprised he’s made it this long without caving. He’s always been family-oriented and going this long without seeing them has been rough. 

 

His family away from family had made it easier, though. 

 

“Hey, that’s where I went to primary school!” Lance points out as they zoom by, and Shiro follows his hand to a little run down school. Lance wonders what he thinks of it, what he thinks of _Cuba_ , but he supposes there will be time to talk about it later.

 

From there, Lance makes it a mission to point out to Shiro every place of significance from his life.

 

“--Oh, and that’s where I fell out of that tree trying to save a cat from certain death-- it jumped on top of me after I broke my arm but I still count it as a win. Do you remember that, Veronica?”

 

“I remember you being a big baby about breaking your arm,” Veronica laughs. 

 

“I was in _serious_ pain, thank you very much!” Lance complains, turning back to the scenery.  “Oh man, I totally punched a dude over there for making fun of my _Sailor Moon_ lunch box!”

 

“You carried that thing around until it fell apart and Mom had to pretend like someone stole it,” Veronica says from the front and Shiro laughs, Lance turning to him at the betrayal. 

 

“I was _devastated_ , Shiro,” Lance says to him seriously. 

 

“Sounds very tragic,” he agrees. “I once had a Captain America t-shirt that I wore to three consecutive school year picture days.” 

 

“Shut the fuck up, no you didn’t,” Lance snorts, doubling over in laughter as the thought catches up with him. All he can see, in his mind’s eye, is beefy little Shiro trying to walk around in a shirt half his size. 

 

“Did it still fit you?” Veronica asks, eyes lighting on them from the front mirror. 

 

“It was barely holding on,” Shiro admits. “There were holes in the armpits, and Captain America’s face was _completely_ gone.”

 

“REST IN PIECES,” Lance honks, wiping a tear from his eye. 

 

The rest of the drive passes in much the same manner, and Lance smiles at Shiro, grateful for being with him. Veronica seems to like him already. That definitely hadn’t been the case with Allura, though that wasn’t really her fault. By the time Allura had met his family, they’d already been drifting apart, strained and resigned. 

 

When they pull into the long dirt road that leads to their farmhouse, Lance plasters his face to the window, trying to see some of the farm animals he’s missed. 

 

“I can’t wait for you to meet Kaltenecker,” Lance says, turning to Shiro. “She’s my--”

 

“Cow?” Shiro answers for him, and Lance furrows his brows. 

 

“Yeah, that’s right,” he says. He didn’t know he talked about Kaltenecker so much that Shiro would’ve overheard. Is Keith right? Does he talk too much?

 

No, because Keith is never right about anything. So take _that_ , Keith.

 

As soon as Veronica parks, Lance throws the van door open, nearly tripping in his haste to get out. The front door opens in much the same way and a whole pack of family members rush out. 

 

Sylvio and Nadia are screaming in glee and they barrel straight into him, knocking him over just as he bends down to their level. They land on the ground, laughing, Lance hugging his niece and nephew closely. 

 

They stay on top of him as they shout over each other. Lance feigns pain, groaning. 

 

“Ugh… so heavy… you’re crushing me to death…,” he wheezes, like an old man, letting out an ‘oof’ as Nadia elbows him. 

 

“We are not!” She giggles. 

 

“We missed you!” Sylvio says, gripping onto him tightly. 

 

“I missed you too, buddy. You guys have gotten even bigger since I last saw you,” he says. 

 

“You don’t look any different,” Sylvio points out. 

 

“That’s because I don’t age,” Lance answers, seriously, moving to stand up. 

 

“He’s a vampire now,” Nadia whispers, and Sylvio narrows his eyes at him.

 

“Our enemy!” he says, pulling at Nadia in order for them to run in the other direction. They scurry off, yelling about garlic and rosary as they go. 

 

Lance shakes his head at them and turns to the rest of his family, who are just making it over to him. 

 

“My baby,” his mom says, grasping his face to look at it properly. She pulls him into a hug. “How I missed my son.”

 

“I wasn’t gone for _that_ long,” Lance says but relishes the contact anyway. His mother always smells like fresh laundry and it reminds him of days when he used to try to help her with folding clothes, only to fall asleep in the sunlight as she hummed. It’s so good to see her.

 

“Any time away from my children is too long,” she says, kissing his cheek before making room for everyone else. 

 

“My boy,” his father says with outstretched arms, and Lance gives him a manly hug, complete with pats on the back. 

 

“How is it you’ve gotten even darker since you left? You always tan better than I do,” Rachel, his older sister, complains as she gives him a peck on the cheek. 

 

“Arizona’s sun doesn’t play like that, Rachel,” he says, kissing her cheek in return, moving to let Marco pull him into a hug. “Also, I actually go into the sun.”

 

“I go into the sun--” he hears Rachel grumble, “sometimes.”

 

“Lookin’ good, bro,” Marco says, jostling him.  

 

“Lance!” Luis booms, grabbing him into a hug that lifts him from the ground and crushes the air from his lungs. Lance wheezes, almost falling over when Luis suddenly releases him, only to get pulled into a vigorous noogie. 

 

“Let him breathe a little, love,” Lisa says, saving him once again. She’s a beautiful human being, and Luis is so lucky to have her as a wife. She straightens him out, giving him the softest hug he’s received so far. 

 

“Hey, Lisa,” he says quietly, and she leans back to smile at him. They have a special relationship, in that they seem to _get_ one another. Though they’re related by her marriage to Luis, she might as well be blood for how well she fits in. 

 

“Is Grandma inside?” Lance asks, and his mom nods an affirmative. 

 

“She can’t wait to see you. Luis, can you get Lance’s things for him?” 

 

Luis grunts, making his way to the car, only to stop up short at the sight of Shiro standing beside Veronica, looking rather nervous. 

 

OH YEAH. 

 

“Guys, uh--” Lance cuts himself off, jogging back over to Shiro and sending him a thousand mental apologies via The Force. “--I’d like you to meet someone.”

 

Lance wasn’t expecting the tension to rocket up so quickly. 

 

“This is Shiro,” he says, grabbing Shiro’s hand both for his own sanity, and to give Shiro some strength. “He’s my boyfriend.”

 

The silence is only broken by a lone gust of dramatic wind. 

 

Just when it’s starting to get a little too uncomfortable, Rachel speaks up. 

 

“I have _got_ to go to Arizona,” she says. 

 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

 

Lance stands in the doorway separating the kitchen and the dining room, watching Shiro interact with his family from afar. 

 

Despite the barrage of questions being thrown at him, and Sylvio and Nadia pestering him, he seems to be doing just fine. Even Lance’s father is hounding Shiro for information, captivated by his words. He’s never seen his dad with such a MCM. It’s a _lot_.

 

Shiro’s always been level-headed under pressure, but color Lance _very_ impressed. He looks happy, even, to be entertaining his siblings as they try to prise embarrassing information from him. It’s a good look. _He’s_ a good look. 

 

Shiro must feel his eyes on him because he turns his head, giving Lance a warm smile as if to tell him he’s ok. 

 

Lance waves, like a dork. 

 

“Honestly, I can’t believe you didn’t tell your _own_ Mamá you were dating again,” his mom says, reminding him that he’s supposed to be helping her gather dinner supplies. Really, he knows this is her only chance to grill him before playing polite hostess for Shiro. “And bringing him home? Without saying anything?”

 

“I’m sorry, Mom. We both wanted to keep it to ourselves,” Lance explains, watching her fret over her food. “Especially after Allura.” 

 

He makes a Catholic sign of the cross out of sight for lying to his Mamá, but it’s for the greater good. 

 

She turns to him, sympathy written all over her face. 

 

“I know the break up was hard on you, Lance. I’m glad to see you’ve moved on. Shiro must be _very_ special if you’re already bringing him around.”

 

“He’s awesome,” Lance says, taking the proffered plate of chicken from his mother. For once, he can be honest. He really does think Shiro is awesome. 

 

“Is he good to you, honey?” she asks, eyes shimmering in the dim kitchen lighting. 

 

Lance sets the plate back on the counter, taking his mom’s hands. 

 

“Shiro is one of the best people I’ve ever known,” he says, squeezing her fingers as he looks down at her. “He’s good to everyone.”

 

His mom searches his face, but he knows she won’t find anything amiss. She sighs, pulling him into a hug. 

 

“I’m happy for you.” 

 

Then she whacks him on the back of the head. 

 

“But don’t you ever do that to me again! Bringing such a handsome man home and saying, ‘oh yeah, this is my boyfriend!’ I almost had a heart attack right there!”

 

Lance grabs the plate again, booking it out of the kitchen to avoid another whack to the head, laughing as he dodges her. 

 

He sets the plate down, sliding into the vacant seat beside Shiro’s, nudging him with his elbow. 

 

“Doing okay?” he asks, and Shiro nods. 

 

“I haven’t answered this many questions since I taught class at the Garrison,” he admits, rubbing at his cheek a little nervously. “I might’ve let a few things slip that could be used against you later. Sorry about that.”

 

“I owe it to you,” Lance says, shrugging. “Don’t worry about that. Get ready to eat the best meal of your life. Or... at least the best meal you’ve had in a long time.” 

 

What the Garrison’s food has in nutrients, it sorely lacks in taste— to that, both of them can attest. Hunk tries his best to dress things up every now and then, but there’s only so much he can do with limited ingredients. 

 

“It smells amazing.”

 

“Thank you, Shiro,” his mother says, as she takes a seat at the end of the table. “Well, let’s pray?”

 

They bow their heads for a quick, thankful prayer and a request to bless the food. Lance doesn’t know if Shiro is religious, but he bows his head anyway, out of courtesy. 

 

When the prayer is done, his mother turns to Lance’s grandmother, who has been snoozing since before everyone else adjourned to the table. 

 

“Mamá,” she says, raising her voice to rouse her. She startles awake, looking at her daughter in confusion. “It’s time for dinner, Mamá.” 

 

Nana glances at her plate and, without a word, tucks in. Lance’s mom shakes her head. 

 

“So, Shiro,” his mom begins, and Lance can’t help but think ‘here we go’, “where are you from?”

 

Shiro swallows his mouthful of food, obviously enjoying it as much as Lance is. “Originally, I was born in Japan, but my parents found their work taking them to the States. I pursued my education there and it lead me to what I do now.”

 

“It’s nice that you live closer to Lance than--… closer,” his mom corrects herself, glancing at Lance nervously. She almost mentioned Allura. 

 

“I love working with Lance and the rest of the team,” Shiro says, smiling politely. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

 

“It does worry me that you work together-- isn’t there a problem with that in most places? Coworkers dating?” his mother asks, and Lance jolts, eyes flickering over to Shiro before sliding back to his plate. 

 

He didn’t think of that. 

 

“Uh.”

 

Lance startles suddenly at the feeling of Shiro’s palm, large and calloused as it is, sliding onto his thigh, squeezing briefly before resting there. For comfort?

 

“Uh,” he falters, his entire body flushing hot, clearing his throat, “...we do lots of research, mostly, so it’s not like that?”

 

_Damn it_ , he shouldn’t have phrased that as a question! Why is he always doing that?

 

“What do _you_ do, Shiro?” Lance’s mother asks after her eyes linger on him for a moment. His mother isn’t stupid. She knows _too_ many things for it _not_ to be witchcraft, but hopefully, she chalks his floundering up to nerves. 

 

“We’re on a team together, working on the same mission. We each have different jobs, but we’re all on the same pay grade, with the same level of authority,” Shiro explains, but Lance can hardly process it. 

 

Shiro’s thumb is stroking back and forth, lightly, without thought. It runs along the softer part of Lance’s thigh, and Lance can’t help it— he drops his hand underneath the table, on top of Shiro’s. 

 

He presses his own long fingers between Shiro’s, curling them slightly. 

 

“I still can’t believe my baby is doing such important work,” Lance’s mother says finally, distracted enough by her pride in him to stop her line of questioning, and Shiro nods. 

 

“He’s been helpful in more ways than one. He keeps us all together,” he says, turning to look at Lance. He’s smiling, eyes crinkling sweetly at the corners, meeting Lance’s eyes with an honesty that makes it hard to maintain eye contact. 

 

“Well,” Lance says, “you’re the voice of reason.” He swallows when Shiro squeezes his thigh again, willing the flush he feels on his cheeks to stop embarrassing him. 

 

For a moment, he thinks Shiro might lean in for an impromptu kiss right there at the table, but he doesn’t. Or maybe that’s Lance projecting exactly what he wants to do right now. 

 

“Could you pass me the rolls, Lance?” he asks instead, and Lance extracts his hand in a hurry to comply. 

 

Almost sighing in relief when Shiro removes his own hand to grab the basket, Lance takes a sip of his water, hoping it will cool him down. 

 

When he looks up, Rachel lifts an eyebrow at him, eyes trailing downwards as if looking at the very place where Shiro had laid his hand. 

 

He struggles not to blush, lifting his own brow at her. Technically, he’s “dating” Shiro, so she can’t really say anything about it. People who are dating touch each other all the time, right? Totally. 

 

Suddenly, his grandma makes an excited noise and everyone looks at her, but she’s looking at Shiro. 

 

Her mouth falls open and she starts making “woo woo woo woo” noises. Lance chokes on a bite of roll. He’s _so_ glad Shiro doesn’t know what that means. Nana is being _flirty_.

 

“Mamá,” his mom tries, laughing nervously. Luis and Marco are crowing with laughter, slapping at the table as Grandma gestures with her hands. 

 

“She likes you, Shiro!” Luis hoots, holding onto Marco for strength. Lisa is rolling her eyes. 

 

“Oh,” Shiro says, face turning red. Lance cracks up, covering his eyes with his hand. 

 

“I think I should retire her to her room for now. She’ll eat better without the distraction,” his mom says, standing up to wheel her away. Nana doesn’t stop talking the whole way out. 

 

Dinner, after that, goes pretty well. Mostly, it’s just Lance trying to distract his family from telling Shiro horrifying childhood stories about him. He doesn’t have shame about much, but man, he was a dumbass kid. 

 

They’re just about to jump into the story about Lance taking an actual dump in one of the display toilets at a Lowes when he stands abruptly. 

 

He was four, and he won’t take the slander. 

 

“Shiro and I are tired from the jet lag!!” he announces, slamming his hands on the table to keep Luis from interrupting him. “We will be excusing ourselves, c’mon Shiro.”

 

Shiro purses his lips like he’s trying to fight off a grin, but wipes his face with his napkin and scoots away from the table. 

 

“Where can I clean my plate?” he asks, but Lisa waves her hands.

 

“No, no-- you are our guest and, as Lance said, you must be tired. There will be plenty else to do as Christmas gets closer, so take this as a time to rest.”

 

“Are you sure?” he asks, but Lance starts pulling him away. 

 

The further they get from the dining room, the more Lance’s shoulders seem to relax, the tension seeping out of him. It’s been a long day and he _really_ is tired. 

 

Shiro is silent behind him and Lance realizes he never let go of his hand. He drops it with a hasty laugh. 

 

“Sorry,” he adds, glancing at Shiro. 

 

“It’s okay,” Shiro says, but he seems distracted taking in the surroundings and the many pictures on the walls. 

 

Lance slows, giving him time to take it all in. 

 

“Is this you?” Shiro asks, zeroing in on a photo Lance that always transports Lance back to that exact moment. 

 

It was his first time surfing at the beach, his little blue swim shorts standing out against the stark white of the sand. 

 

“Yeah,” he tells him, “my first time surfing.” 

 

“Sylvio looks a lot like you,” Shiro mentions, and Lance nods. 

 

“He does, and Nadia looks a lot like Rachel did when she was young. Meaning, they’re going to grow up to be perfect specimens, of course.”

 

“Oh, to be sure,” Shiro teases, turning back to the pictures. There are various photos of Lance’s family, mostly of him and his siblings. There are professional school pictures and graduation pictures and birth milestones. 

 

“C’mon,” Lance says. “You’ll get to see this a lot more while we’re here.”

 

Lance’s room, thankfully, is upstairs and to itself. His parents’ room is downstairs and clear on the other side of the house. Luis and Lisa share a separate building, with Nadia and Sylvio. Everyone else is scattered in the rather large farmhouse, which is convenient for them because it gives them some space to talk. 

 

...Except all thought of talk jolts to a halt when Lance opens the door and remembers there’s only one, singular bed in his old room. 

 

Huh. 

 

He knows Shiro is having the same line of thought because he’s gone completely silent, blinking at the _one, singular_ bed. 

 

“I can sleep on the floor,” Lance assures him quickly. 

 

“Nonsense,” Shiro says, “there’s plenty of room for both of us.”

 

“Oh… okay.” 

 

This isn’t a big deal. It’s just… sharing a bed. It doesn’t have to be a big thing. 

 

_Except it totally does_. 

 

How will Lance be able to sleep when there’s no space between his body and Shiro’s? How will he cope with Shiro’s muscles being so near, yet so very off limits? Plus, the _last_ thing he wants to do is make Shiro uncomfortable in any way. What if he drools on him again? What if he farts on him in his sleep?

 

But, then again, what if his family comes into the room and sees Lance sleeping on the floor? Wouldn’t that be suspicious? In his heart, Lance knows Shiro is right. There _is_ plenty of room for both of them to sleep, but that doesn’t mean Lance has to like it.

 

He _does_ like it, but that’s not the point. 

 

“Are you okay?” Shiro asks, bringing Lance to the present. He’s already lifted his suitcase to the bed and extracted a pair of pajamas, holding them in his hand. 

 

“Uh yeah-- do you need to take a shower? I have an ensuite bathroom,” Lance says as he plugs his phone into the charger by the bed, pointing to one of the doors in the room. 

 

“That would be great. I always feel gritty after flying.” 

 

“Here, let me pull out a towel for you. You can go ahead and start the shower. It takes a moment for it to warm up-- big house, ya know?” Lance excuses himself, padding down the hall to one of their towel closets, trying not to think about Shiro using a shower he has definitely jacked off in before. 

 

Taking a breath, he grabs the towels and almost drops them when he enters the bathroom to Shiro stripping his shirt off. 

 

The man looks like a full-on comic book character, for Christ’s sake. 

 

“I… uh…,” Lance struggles and Shiro turns, accepting the towel that he’s holding out without much thought. “Dirty clothes.”

 

“Sorry?” Shiro asks, holding his balled up shirt in one hand. 

 

“You can put your dirty clothes in this basket,” he says, without moving. He’s trying to maintain eye contact, but he’s hard— _it’s_ hard— _it’s difficult._

 

“Which basket?” 

 

“This one,” Lance says, though he doesn’t move a muscle. 

 

His eyes look down without his permission. 

 

Move over, Captain America. These are the tiddies of freedom now. 

 

Shiro clears his throat. 

 

“Eyes up here, Lance,” he says. 

 

“Laundry!” Lance yells in response, grabbing the shirt from Shiro. He dunks it into the hamper hanging off the back of the bathroom door and books it, slamming the door behind him. 

 

He’s already ripping his phone from his charger by the time it catches up with him. He throws himself stomach-first on the bed in response, trying to smother himself in the comforter. 

 

He can’t _believe_ himself. 

 

Shuffling around, he opens his phone.

 

**Lance:**  

i can’t do this hunk

 

He barely hits the send button before his phone buzzes with a reply. 

 

**Hunk:**

what? why? what happened????

  


**Lance:**

Shiro’s too hot. Im too gay>???

 

It takes a moment for a response this time. 

 

**Hunk:**  

What did I tell you about the way you word things?

 

Scoffing, Lance rolls his eyes, swinging his feet back and forth behind himself as he taps the keyboard. 

 

**Lance:**  

i’m too dramatic and I scare you by making you think something terrible has happened to me?

 

**Hunk:**

Exactly!

 

**Lance:**

to be fair to me, you always jump to that conclusion though

 

**Hunk:**  

What I do doesn’t matter! 

 

**Lance:**  

hhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

 

**Hunk:**  

Listen, we talked about this before you left. You respect Shiro and Shiro is doing this from the kindness of his heart

 

**Lance:**  

...and I shouldn’t ruin it by being so gay?

 

**Hunk:**  

Not exactly how I would have worded it, but sure. 

 

**Keith:**

you’re so dramatic

**Lance:**  

why is Keith in this conversation????

 

**Hunk:**  

This is our group chat? Me, you, Pidge, and Keith?

 

**Lance:**  

oh yeah

 

**Keith:**  

have you embarrassed yourself yet

 

**Lance:**  

no but im bout to embarrass you in a minute

 

**Hunk:**  

Are you ignoring Shiro right now to text us??

 

**Lance:**

i’m not that terrible of a person. he’s in the shower

 

**Keith:**  

How could you leave Shiro alone like that?

 

**Lance:**  

IN MY SHOWER???????

 

**Pidge:**

exactly, Lance, how could you?

 

**Lance:**  

y’all are not mkaing this easy for me i hate u :(

 

**Keith:**  

love u too 

 

**Lance:**  

aw Keith :’) buddy

**Lance:**

go fuck urself 

 

**Hunk:**  

We’re not getting anywhere-- call me dude

 

**Lance:**  

I can’t!! Shiro is getting out of the shower!!

 

**Hunk:**  

Call me later then??

 

**Lance:**  

ok love u bye

 

**Hunk:**  

love u bye

 

**Pidge:**

Text us about your gay panic more often, it’s way too entertaining. 

 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

 

“I almost forgot what a normal shower felt like,” Shiro says, sighing contentedly as he towels his hair dry. He looks happy and relaxed in his tank top and loose sweatpants, which is a new (but _absolutely_ welcome) look for him. “I’ve gotten used to the Garrison showers.”

 

It’s not that he never relaxes at the Garrison, it’s that he doesn’t do it _often_. Very rarely does anyone get to see a Shiro that isn’t perfectly put together, tension holding his back straight, his face carefully drawn into a mask of professionalism. 

 

The last time he’d let loose even a little was at a party a year or two ago, and that was only because someone spiked the punch with Everclear and they’d _all_ let loose a little. The only thing Lance remembers from that night is the fact that they created a new mythological creature for the school because they all ended up on the roof, yodeling in a very disturbing manner (they hadn’t thought it disturbing at the time, in fact, they all thought they sounded quite beautiful). Naturally, the student body had thought it was a pack of wolf-monster-hybrids or El Chupacabra himself and started a rumor about it that scares the piss out of newbies to this day. 

 

Still, it surprises Lance that Shiro feels comfortable enough around him _to_ relax. Lance is an acquired taste, he can admit that to himself, and though they’ve gotten a lot closer as a team than most other people at the Garrison, it’s just… different. It’s just the two of them. 

 

Shiro drops his towel into the laundry hamper, ruffling through his suitcase until he finds his glasses. He moves the suitcase out of the way and sits on the bed, crossing his legs. 

 

“Are you going to take a shower?” he asks Lance. Lance shakes his head. 

 

“In the morning,” he answers, grabbing his own pajamas. “Be right back.”

 

When he comes back out of the bathroom, teeth brushed, face mask on, pajamas equipped, Shiro is reading one of his old manga from his bookcase. 

 

“I forgot I had that one,” he says, crawling up onto the bed and crossing his own legs as he faces Shiro. The bedside table lamp is casting a soft glow onto the room, making it all seem as cozy as Lance remembers it. 

 

“I like your decor. They never took it down,” Shiro muses, folding the book closed and setting it on the table. 

 

Lance hums, glancing about the room. He has posters of spaceships hanging haphazardly on his walls, his ceiling dotted with glow-in-the-dark stars. There’s a white and blue theme going on, and Lance’s bookshelf is full of space books and manga. It’s all cluttered endearingly, lived in but not messy. 

 

“They probably won’t until I move permanently. I never thought I’d be at the Garrison this long. I thought maybe I’d work for NASA-- go to Florida, or whatever.”

 

“No kidding. I thought I’d be in space by now,” Shiro admits, laughing at himself. “I guess I was a little _too_ ambitious.”

 

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Lance says, feeling his skin pulling tight as his face mask dries. Silence descends upon them, and Lance struggles with the awkwardness of it. He flounders for something to say or do, literally flailing his hands as he stands. 

 

“Hey, you want a peelie face mask? They’re very rejuvenating.” 

 

“O--” Shiro’s eyebrows tilt upwards as Lance starts moving towards the bathroom before he even answers, “--kay.”

 

When Lance gets back with the face mask and a damp hand towel, he’s washed his own mask off. He crawls in front of Shiro, sitting close. 

 

“I use these all the time because of how dry Arizona gets. And look how baby smooth my skin is. I can usually get the others to do one every once in a while,” he rambles, filling up the quiet with inane babble. “Keith likes simple stuff, like rice water.”

 

“It’s gonna be a little cold,” he says by way of apology, popping the cap. Shiro removes his glasses, setting them on the bedside table as he straightens up. 

 

“Should I,” he begins, unsure, “--should I close my eyes?” 

 

Lance smiles at him. “If you want?”

 

Shiro nods, eyes slipping closed. Lance puts some product on his own hand, lifting it to Shiro’s face. 

 

“Oh,” Shiro says, trying not to move his lips too much, “that _is_ cold.”

 

Lance smoothes the product over Shiro’s face, keeping his fingertips light. He has to admit to himself, he’s never been able to really _look_ at Shiro up close. They’ve worked in close quarters, but the focus was never on each other. 

 

Now, he can see every line on Shiro’s face, can trace the shape of his cheekbone or press an eyebrow down so it doesn’t get caught in the mask. The skin of his scar is lighter than the rest of his face, smoother. 

 

He’s really beautiful, Lance thinks, biting his own lip. His fingertips linger delicate on Shiro’s chin, centimeters away from his full lips. 

 

Shiro opens his eyes and a beat passes before Lance drops his hand, grabbing the hand towel to clean them off. 

 

“Now all you have to do is wait,” he instructs, averting his eyes. 

 

Some part of him feels struck and guilty, knowing full well that he’s been harboring feelings towards Shiro and that maybe he took advantage of him in some way, that he is _now_. He can’t help but think that maybe Shiro felt sorry for him, and Lance is using that to be close to him. 

 

But Shiro was the one who volunteered, and Lance definitely said he didn’t have to do this. Then again, he didn’t try very hard to convince him not to. 

 

Shaking his head, Lance scoots back, looking back up at Shiro who has been watching him. 

 

“Thanks for being so nice to my family,” Lance says. 

 

“It isn’t hard,” Shiro says softly, “they’re very welcoming.”

 

“Let’s not forget embarrassing! I can’t believe they told you about Yoda I, II, and III.”

 

“Your heart was in the right place, but try not to name any more of your goldfish after Star Wars characters. You’re cursing them, Lance,” Shiro says, gravely. 

 

“Conspiracies,” Lance insists, grinning. “Also, _wow_ , sorry about my Grandma?”

 

“She’s very… opinionated?”

 

“Fuck, that was so awkward,” he says, and Shiro shakes his head. “She has Alzheimer’s. She can’t really help it.”

 

“It was flattering,” he shrugs. “I still got it.”

 

Lance splutters, whacking Shiro on his knee. 

 

“You’re not even old!” 

 

They lapse into a brief silence, but this time it’s less awkward, and Lance doesn’t feel the need to suffocate them with chatter.

 

“Your mom seemed a little suspicious,” Shiro mentions, and Lance rolls his eyes. 

 

“She’s psychic, probably. Don’t worry about it. I think she’s so thrown by me not saying anything about you that she won’t look into it. Reverse psychologically-- psychology? Either that, or she’s going to test you extensively.” 

 

“Comforting.”

 

“You still up for the task?” Lance asks. 

 

“I won’t let you down.”

 

“Cool. Let’s peel your face off now.”

 

“What?”

 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

 

The faint sound of knocking drags Lance blinking into reluctant awareness. There's a sliver of light peeking through the open door, and Lance makes a croaking, questioning noise at the intrusion. 

 

“It's time to get up,” Rachel says, her voice soft in the dark. “We're going to pick the tree today.”

 

“Ok, ” Lance says, or some approximation of that. He hates early mornings _so_ much. Rachel closes the door and plunges him back into darkness. Lance thinks about saying ‘fuck the tree’ and shutting his eyes for a few more hours of blissful ignorance, but he knows his mother would barge in if he did. 

 

But it’s so cozy, though, being cuddled up here next to Shiro—

 

Lances eyes shoot back open, realizing he's plastered against Shiro’s side. There's firm muscle rising and falling underneath Lance’s hand and one of Lance’s legs is thrown over Shiro’s, their calves pressed side by side. 

 

Shiro’s eyes are closed though, lips parted as he breathes deeply. Lance sighs in relief, letting himself relax. 

 

Waking up with another person in his bed isn’t new to him (almost every member of his team has crashed with him, or he with them, after long nights of pouring over formulas and plans), but the intimacy of this feels almost foreign to him, for how long it’s been. It’s odd that this feels more natural than waking up spooning Allura, though their physical time together had been brief. The majority of their relationship had been long distance, though not by choice— or at least… not by Lance’s. 

 

He’s trying so hard not to feel bitter about Allura, because what would that say about him?

 

It seems that Lance has migrated toward Shiro in his sleep, and he’s not blaming his unconscious self for doing so. Shiro is warm and loose-limbed, and Lance has tucked himself in the space beside his body, conforming to his curves and angles like he was meant to be there. 

 

Shiro’s heart is beating just underneath where Lance’s hand is resting, breathing deeply and evenly through his mouth. Compelled, Lance trails his fingers down his chest, to the soft trail of hair just underneath his navel, then back up. It’s so easy to pretend like this is something they do every morning. 

 

Shiro sucks in a breath through his nose, adjusting himself in his sleep. His arm, which naturally curved around Lance’s body sometime during the night, pulls Lance a little closer. 

 

Squeezing his eyes shut, Lance turns his face into the juncture of Shiro’s neck, breathing in deeply as he tries to ground himself. His scent is familiar, a mix of his usual earthy tones and the spice of Lance’s preferred soap. 

 

He doesn’t want to move right away. Waking Shiro up, even moving away from him, is the very last thing Lance wants to do right now. 

 

Which is exactly why he does the opposite, extricating himself carefully and slipping into his bathroom. 

 

He leans against the closed door for a moment, covering his mouth with his hand as he convinces himself not to go in there and curl back up. Pushing away from the door, he flips the cold water on and splashes his face with it. 

 

Toweling his face dry, he takes a moment to look himself over in the mirror. 

 

Stupid. He’s so _stupid_. 

 

This is a disaster. It hasn’t even been _one_ full day. 

 

What makes him think he’s anywhere good enough for Shiro? He wasn’t quite adequate enough for Allura, not enough, anyway, to keep her attention. There’s nothing exciting about him, nothing special like Keith, and he’s not smart like Pidge and Hunk. In fact, he’s always second-guessing his place on the Kerberos team, and second-guessing his place in everyone’s lives. 

 

Shiro doesn’t _need_ that. 

 

“I need to take a shower,” he murmurs to himself, shaking his head. 

 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

  


“Got you a coffee,” Lance says, when the sun is little further up and Shiro’s sitting up in bed, hair askew. He looks surprisingly cute half-awake (not a word Lance would’ve associated with Shiro before this), and Lance has to stop himself from laughing as he yawns.

 

“Thanks,” he says, blinking the sleep out of his eyes as he grabs the mug that says ‘The Sass is Strong with This One’ in blocky Star Wars font. It was an old Christmas gift that Lance left here when he took off for the Garrison, but one he always uses when he comes to visit. 

 

“Just cream, right?” Lance asks as Shiro takes a sip and sighs. 

 

“Got it,” Shiro answers, smiling softly at him. 

 

Lance swallows his heart in his throat, smiling back. 

 

“Did you... sleep alright?” Why does he feel so shy all of a sudden? Is it because he woke up in Shiro’s arms? Because this feels too domestic, too intimate, too much for Lance?

 

“Best sleep I’ve gotten in a while,” he says, taking another sip of the warm beverage. He reaches over to his cell phone to check the time. 

 

“We’re leaving in about 20 minutes to pick a Christmas tree,” Lance says and he turns, picking up the plate he brought in with him. “Dad made you some breakfast.”

 

“He didn’t have to do that for me,” Shiro murmurs, sitting his phone back on the table, along with the coffee, so he can reach for the plate. 

 

Lance sits on the bed, facing Shiro. 

 

“In my family, it’s offensive _not_ to accept the food. Might as well get used to it.”

 

Shiro closes his eyes as he bites into a piece of thick, slightly sweet, crispy-chewy bacon. He groans as he chews, and Lance bites his lip. 

 

“The way your family cooks, I might just never go home.” He continues to enjoy his meal, a myriad of facial expressions crossing his face. This is as expressive as Lance has ever seen him. Who knew all it would take is perfectly cooked bacon? His dad cooks a _mean_ breakfast. 

 

“If I went back without you, everyone would kill me. You’re our majority-vote, no-take-backs leader of the group, Shiro.”

 

Shiro shoots him a surprised look, by all accounts looking completely floored by the concept. He has to know they think highly of him… right?

 

“Well,” he starts, eyes falling to his half-empty plate, “I can’t disappoint anyone, can I?”

 

The tone of his voice is all wrong. Of course, he can disappoint people. That’s called being _human_. 

 

“We… we don’t expect you to be perfect, y’know? Just… that you’re you,” Lance says, hand gently touching his calf. “Are you… are you happy on the team?” He can’t help his own insecurity bleeding into the conversation, but he’s always been a little selfish like that.

 

“Of course I am,” Shiro answers, no hesitation. “I just want to do right by you. By everyone.”

 

“Shiro--” Lance begins, but the door opens, Rachel peeking in. 

 

“Oh good, you’re not naked at least,” she says, relieved, though her eyes linger on Shiro like she’s disappointed _he_ isn’t. She opens the door fully, putting her hands on her hips. “We’re leaving in fifteen! I’m bringing my camera for Instagram stuff, so try not to look too much like you live in the middle of nowhere majority of the time. Shiro, you’re perfect, don’t worry about it.”

 

“What?! _Shiro’s_ perfect? I’ll have you know that I have _plenty_ of Instagram followers, and they _like_ my desert fashion!” 

 

It’s _very_ poncho chic. 

 

Rachel rolls her eyes. 

 

“Whatever. Fifteen minutes, Lance!” 

 

She closes the door behind her. Lance makes an offended noise on his own behalf. 

 

“Can you believe her? What’s wrong with my fashion sense?” Lance whines, and Shiro shrugs.

 

“Can’t help you there. I’m not fashionable in _any_ sense of the word.”

 

“You don’t even have to try to look good,” Lance grumbles, too low for Shiro to hear. He grabs Shiro’s empty plate from him, struggling to get off the bed without tripping. “I’ll give you some time to get dressed while I go wash this. You can meet me in the kitchen.”

 

Lance closes his bedroom door behind him, making his way across the house to the kitchen. 

 

“Hey hon,” Lisa greets him, nursing a cup of tea as she leans against the counter.

 

“Hey Lisa,” Lance says, walking past her to get to the sink. He suds the plate down, rinsing it quickly and placing it into the dish rack. 

 

“How’s your man holding up?” she says, her voice all tease and affection. Lance turns, grinning at her. 

 

“He’s fine.”

 

“ _Yeah,_ he is,” she says, wiggling her brows at him. He laughs, leaning against the counter opposite her. 

 

“Find your _own_ man,” Lance jokes, though it sits heavy in his stomach. Shiro _isn’t_ his man. 

 

“He seems really sweet,” Lisa sighs, “a perfect gentleman.”

 

Lance zones out a little, thinking of instances where Shiro _is_ a perfect gentleman. There are almost too many. He holds open doors for everyone, talks to children (on frequent field trips to their facility) like they’re actually little human beings, and stays after his shift all the time to help the rest of the team when they’re not done yet. 

 

It’s not that Shiro is without fault— he has his vices. He gets a little impatient, a little moody when things don’t go the right way. He’s lost his temper before, though he’s usually able to reign it back in and apologize when he realizes what he’s done. 

 

The good, though, far outweigh the bad. Shiro genuinely tries to be a _good_ person. That’s, like, the basis of his entire character. 

 

“Wow,” Lisa says, “you’re totally gone for him.”

 

Lance flushes violently pink, all the way to the tips of his ears. 

 

“No, I’m not,” he mumbles, looking anywhere but her face. He certainly likes Shiro a whole lot, he can admit that much. Well, not to her, but to himself. 

 

“Oh _Lance_ ,” Lisa says, putting her cup on the counter, grinning at him. “You _are_. Luis is gonna _flip_.”

 

“Do _not_ tell Luis!” Lance emphasizes, grabbing at Lisa’s arms and shaking her lightly. 

 

“He was talking to me last night about how much _bigger_ Shiro is than you, and that he was _older_ than you, and that he worries for his baby brother,” Lisa says, snorting as Lance drops his head to her shoulder, whining. 

 

“I’m an adult, grown… male… man.” 

 

“You’re a mailman?” Lisa asks, patting his head. Lance straightens but doesn’t let go of her. 

 

“He _has_ to back off.” 

 

“Don’t worry, sweetie,” she says, “I won’t let him ruin this for you. I might let him be a little protective-- just a little.”

 

“Ughhh, fine. But I’m holding you to it! Only a little!” 

 

Lisa pulls him into a hug, shifting away only to squish his face between her hands. 

 

“We’ve all missed you so much,” she says. “It’s not the same without you here.”

 

He grabs her wrists, smiling. 

 

“I know. I’m the star of the party, what can I say?”

 

Lisa pinches his cheek. 

 

“And so humble.” She drops her hands, picking her tea back up. “Speak of the devil.”

 

Lance’s head whips around, finding Shiro walking into the kitchen. He’s wearing dark-wash, form-fitting jeans— which Lance could salivate over alone, except he’s _also_ sporting a dark henley, sleeves rolled up to the elbow and the shirt is slightly undone at the top. Lance gets a burst of dopamine just _looking_ at him.

 

“Thanks for the coffee,” he says, by way of greeting. 

 

“Need a refill?” Lance asks, but Shiro shakes his head, handing Lance the coffee cup when he reaches for it. 

 

“I’ll get it,” Lisa says, “I need to wash my cup anyway.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

Lance sidles up close to Shiro, wondering how comfortable he would be with some sort of display of affection. How easy would it be to lift up on his toes and press his lips against Shiro’s jawline? How warm would Shiro’s hand be if he were to slip his into it? Would he be uncomfortable with that? 

 

This is all wrong— he’d never second-guess any of this before, so why should he now? 

 

“Ready to spend a day with my family?” 

 

“I hope so,” Shiro says, betraying some of his real nerves in the line. He looks down at Lance, dark eyes earnest and appearing almost steel-colored in the sunlight coming from the kitchen window. 

 

Giving him a kiss on the cheek would be ok… right? Yes? 

 

The longer Shiro looks at him, maintaining eye contact and smiling as he is, the more Lance is unsure of himself. 

 

“You’ll do great,” Lance insists, forgoing anything intimate in exchange for grabbing his shoulder. 

 

“There you are, Lance!” _Holy shit._ “I was just looking for an opportunity to question Shi--”

 

“You scared the crap out of me, Luis--” Lance growls, pushing at him from where he’s barreled into his (and, by extension, Shiro’s) personal space. “What to heck?”

 

“Honey,” Lisa interrupts, making good on her promise. “You can bother them later. I want to pick up something before we meet everyone at the tree farm.”

 

She winks at him as she drags Luis, who is still trying to speak, out. 

 

Lance winces. 

 

“Sorry,” he says to Shiro. 

 

“It’s okay, Lance,” Shiro placates. “When I said yes to helping, I expected something like this. The way you speak about your family, it would be weird for them not to have a lot of questions about me. About… us?”

 

“Lisa said she’d run as much interference with Luis as possible, but he’s pretty headstrong, so I doubt it’ll take long to get past her.” He sighs, rolling his eyes. “C’mon, I’m sure Dad has already started the car.”

  


─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

 

By the time they get to the tree farm, the sun is well and up, shining hot and bright at eighty-five degrees Fahrenheit. It’s forever hot in Cuba, for the most part, something that Lance loves, though he’s grown used to the dry heat of Arizona. He’s sweating in the humidity and glances over to see Shiro doing the same.

 

“It’s better by the beach,” Lance comments, continuing when Shiro gives him a questioning look, “The heat? It’s not so bad when you’re near the sea.” 

 

Shiro matches his sedate pace as they enter the tent, lagging behind their talkative group, simply observing them in their excitement. They all want to pick the perfect tree, and it _has_ to smell good, according to Sylvio, who hasn’t stopped moving all morning. Even in the car, as they were singing Christmas tunes, his legs had been propelling up and down, non-stop. 

 

Now he’s yammering away to Nadia, who is still young enough to feel starry-eyed surrounded by tall (albeit fake) Christmas trees. They have a few lit up displays, and even Nana is wide-eyed and happy as Mom wheels her nearby to touch the twinkling lights. 

 

It makes Lance happy to see everyone else so happy. 

 

“Would that be your perfect day?” Shiro asks, drawing his attention back. 

 

“Huh?”

 

“Going to the beach? Is that what your perfect day is like? You talk about it a lot at the Garrison.” He tilts his head curiously, but Lance is more concerned with the fact that Shiro has been listening closely when he speaks back at home. He never knew Shiro was even remotely interested in what Lance blabbers on about to fill the space with noise. It’s… It makes him feel important, somehow, that he’s even gone so far as to remember what it is Lance has spoken about before. This isn’t the first time Shiro’s mentioned something about a conversation Lance has had while he’s been in the room.

 

“Yeah, though I wish the rest of the team could be there, too. My two families out for a day at Varadero Beach? Abso-freakin-lutely!” He grins widely just at the thought. He’d love to see Keith’s pasty ass turning lobster red. “What about you?”

 

“Hmm,” Shiro turns thoughtful, tapping his chin. “Actually, your perfect day sounds tempting. I was going to say something boring, and probably predictable. But… to be honest… Work 24/7 is getting a little old.”

 

“Hey man,” Lance soothes, “It’s okay to bitch about work. It’s work! I bitch about it all the time!”

 

“Yes… I remember,” Shiro deadpans. 

 

Lance ducks his head at the reprimand but continues on, noting that fake snow has begun to float around the tent. They must’ve turned the fan on for so many customers. The more magical it feels, the more likely people are to buy something… probably. 

 

“The point is-- we all know you’re dedicated to Kerberos and the work being done for the mission. Nobody works as hard as you-- well, maybe Pidge. But, to be fair, she like, never sleeps.” He trails off for a moment, wondering if Hunk is enforcing her bedtime like _he_ usually does. Sometimes Hunk is just as bad as she is! “Anyway, yeah-- if you wanna break the rules or start a food fight or sneak out in the middle of the night, I’m totally game for that. I’m your guy. Won’t tell a soul.” He mimes zipping his lips.

 

“Is that so?” Shiro asks.

 

“I have one of those inflatable dinosaur suits. We can terrorize the new cadets.”

 

Shiro barks out a laugh. “I’ll have to see that one for myself.”

 

Lance stops them in between a few large, plastic firs that smell exactly like the cloying scent of pine. 

 

“You’re allowed to live a little. We’ll still respect you in the morning.” He tries to keep it light, but he’s sure his face is betraying him. He can’t help the way he wears his heart on his face. 

 

Shiro must sense his sincerity because his answering grin makes Lance’s heart skip. 

 

“Thank you. We’ll make it date... honey,” he teases. 

 

They stare at each other for a heavy moment, just taking the other in, the air charged with something new, something warmer.  

 

“Lance!” 

 

Luis’ voice makes him startle _again_ and Lance turns to squint at him.

 

“Look above you!” Luis booms, laughing heartily in that joyful way that he’s prone to. He’s happy about damn near everything, and it’s rare to see him upset. Still, whenever Luis is so tickled, it never means anything good for Lance.  

 

Lance’s eyes travel upwards, breath catching as he recognizes the plant above them. _Fucking_ mistletoe— insubordinate... and churlish. 

 

“Give us a little smooch then,” Lisa says, smiling, not knowing that her meddling isn’t quite as helpful as she thinks it is. _She_ thinks she’s giving Lance an excuse to kiss Shiro without worrying about it. 

 

Lance turns back to Shiro, biting his lip for a moment. He tries to let Shiro know, with his eyes (and telepathically), that he’s truly sorry. He thought maybe they’d get to avoid the whole kissing thing. It would’ve been better if they could’ve.

 

Not because he doesn’t want to kiss Shiro. He _wants_. That’s precisely why it’s such a horrible idea.

 

Shiro purses his lips like he’s trying not to laugh. 

 

This isn’t a laughing matter! Lance thinks it’s very rude that he’s laughing about this—

 

Until Shiro catches Lance under the chin and pulls him in. 

 

Shiro’s lips are soft and dry, Lance observes, as his hands scrabble for a grip on Shiro’s shirt. He needs to anchor himself as his _knees are about to lose all strength._ It takes him a minute to process that he should be kissing his very attractive boyfriend back, as they have an audience. 

 

It’s a kiss sweeter than any kiss has any right to be, just a press of lips and a sharing of space that still leaves Lance aching in a way he didn’t think was possible. Even the gentle, but firm caress of Shiro’s hand on his jaw commits itself to Lance’s memory.

 

When Shiro pulls back, Lance almost follows, almost closes the space between them again. He opens his eyes slowly (hadn’t even realized he closed them), looking up at Shiro with what he knows is a dumb look, mouth hanging open. Shiro is watching him with a look on his face Lance has never seen before, licking his own lips. Lance’s eyes follow the path of his tongue as he does.

 

This is so _bad_. 

 

“There now,” Lisa says, reminding Lance, once again, that there are other people around and living in the world, “that was lovely! I was beginning to think you didn’t _want_ to kiss.”

 

Lance is still holding onto Shiro’s shirt. 

 

“Ahaha!” he blurts, sounding like a maniac. 

 

“Come look at this one!” Veronica yells from afar, drawing Luis and Lisa’s attention to the other side of the tent. Thank God for small favors. 

 

“Was that okay?” Shiro asks when they’re out of earshot. Lance removes his hands from Shiro’s shirt in favor of running one of them through his own hair, trying to regain some semblance of stability. 

 

“Y-yeah, that was great-- I mean-- it was fine, it was… totally fine.” 

 

Nailed it. 

 

“I think your family wants us over there, too,” Shiro comments, sounding much too amused,  but Lance nods quickly. 

 

“Yes, family. Over there.” 

 

For God’s sake, there’s fake snow flying everywhere. It’s like a Hallmark movie come to life, except Shiro is not into farmboy Lance, from Cuba, who contributes jack shit to the team and still misses his mom on a daily basis. 

 

Taking a deep breath, Lance follows Shiro over to his family.

 

They’re crowded around a large, noble fir tree. It’s blue-tinged green and very elegant, and just big enough to hold their many collected ornaments while still fitting inside their house. They have a cathedral ceiling in the living room, but still. 

 

“This one is beautiful,” his mom breathes, grabbing Dad’s arm. “What do you all think?”

 

There’s a resounding chorus of yes and rapid-fire Spanish, describing just _how_ beautiful they all find it.

 

“Lisa sent me the picture of you two kissing,” Rachel announces as she comes to stand by them. “It looks Instagram-worthy, for sure. Let’s take another one where you’re looking at the camera, though. Shiro, grab Lance’s hand?”

 

Shiro does as he’s asked, taking Lance’s hand in his much larger one. 

 

Rachel pushes them back near one of the dimly lit displays, posing them as she pleases. 

 

“Okay, stay there, but act natural,” she instructs, camera ready to go, squinting at them, “like you’re laughing, but, like, while you’re looking at me.”

 

“Iverson’s favorite actor is Nicolas Cage,” Shiro says lowly when she backs up to snap a picture. Lance looks at him in bewilderment before bursting into laughter. 

 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

 

“I like this one,” Shiro says, his head tilting close to Rachel’s as they swipe through potential Instagram photos on the couch in the living room. Dad is struggling with Luis to get the tree just right (as they usually do). 

 

“The angle is perfect,” she agrees, tapping at her phone and fiddling with what Lance knows is filters and effects. She’s actually a really good Instagrammer, with more followers pouring in every day. It helps that she’s beautiful, and good at taking photos that people want to see. 

 

Lance doesn’t do too bad himself. As he said, he has a good following and people enjoy his progress reports (in the form of cool space technology), pictures of desert life (complete with arches and canyons, sunsets and the clearest of skies), and the occasional fashion choice. Sometimes he gets a few extra likes when he partners up with Keith, who is way too pretty for his own good. No, Lance will never admit that on his life.  

 

He still has pictures of Allura that he hasn’t let himself take down. He’s been telling himself that he’s only keeping them because, even if it’s a little painful, they’re still memories of a part of his life. Part of him really believes that anyway. 

 

“What do you think?” Rachel asks, presenting the picture to Shiro, who narrows his eyes as he checks it out. He’s taking it as seriously as he would any assignment and Lance feels helpless to the way his heart aches as he observes. 

 

Despite Shiro’s usual professional, detached demeanor towards basically everyone he meets, he’s _really_ trying to make this work for Lance. He’s being so good to his family. 

 

“It looks great-- I really like the filter on this one,” he comments. Rachel makes a happy noise.

 

“Alright, Lance,” Rachel’s voice sounds too smug for her own good. “I’ll send you these pictures and you better appreciate how good they are.”

 

“I already appreciate them because _I’m_ in them,” Lance says, predictably, to which both Rachel _and_ Shiro have to roll their eyes. 

 

Offensive. 

 

“I made some medianoche for lunch. Hope everyone’s hungry!” Lance’s mom says, sweeping into the room with a stacked plate of sandwiches. Lisa walks in behind her, carrying a tray of drinks that she sets on the table. 

 

“We just got the tree up!” Luis announces, hands on his hips like it’s an accomplishment for the ages and not something everyone does every year. 

 

“Very good, my love,” Lisa says, pressing a kiss to his cheek and pulling him over to sit on another one of the couches. 

 

Lance pushes Rachel out of the way, making a space for himself at Shiro’s side. 

 

“Plates,” Marco says, handing out paper plates as he goes by. 

 

“Mom… is this a mojito?” Veronica asks, looking at her glass dubiously from behind her glasses. 

 

“Sí.”

 

Lance takes a sip of his and, sure enough, it’s _loaded_ with rum. _Nice_. 

 

“Honey, it’s not even 3pm yet,” his dad complains, even as he takes a generous sip of his own drink. He’s always like that— saying one thing and doing another. 

 

“The best time to relax,” she says, winking at Shiro, who’s been tentatively inhaling the scent. Oh, Lance gets it. She’s trying to make Shiro feel at home. 

 

Suddenly, Lance wants to cry a little. Is he going to Hell for lying? Knowing how quickly his family gets attached to people, he knows they’re going to be heartbroken when Lance and Shiro “break up”.

 

He downs some of the liquid in his glass. He needs this mojito to come through for him. 

 

“That’s a lot of rum,” Marco laughs, face contorting as he gulps another swallow down. 

 

“It’s _the best time to relax_ ,” his mom reiterates, glaring them all into submission. Luis shrugs, and chugs the entire glass, slapping it down and going ham on the sandwich. He’s a force to be reckoned with. 

 

“Thank you for the meal,” Shiro mentions, and his mom smiles genuinely. 

 

“You’re welcome, honey,” she says. “Eat as much as you’d like.”

 

“We need some Christmas music,” Lance insists, standing and making his way over to their radio system. They have rows and rows of Christmas CDs, and it’s easy enough to pick out his favorite and start it up. 

 

Dancing the short distance back to the couch, he plops back down. 

 

“Rockin’ around the Christmas tree, at the Christmas party hop!” Luis yodels with the first line, sending everyone into a fit of laughter. He’s too jovial to be offended by it, and besides, almost all of them join in as the bridge comes around. 

 

As the afternoon wears down into the evening, a beautiful sunset filtering in through the windows of the living room, everything gets warmer. They all take turns singing as time passes, mouths full and laughter too loud as they move on to tell funny anecdotes about their family. 

 

Getting tipsy on mojitos before they decorate has never been a tradition for them, but Lance thinks maybe it should be. His stomach hurts from how much he’s been laughing over the past hour or so, and seeing Shiro full on laugh out loud is a _gift_. Plus, he even shared a few stories from his cadet days at the Garrison. Turns out he was a regular prankster _and_ a bit of a rebel. 

 

Lance didn’t think it was possible to be able to find more things about Shiro to adore, but here he is and it’s-a happenin’. 

 

“--and then the policeman that pulled over to help them says something over his speakerphone and Dad looks up to the sky and goes, ‘God?’” Marco crows, barely getting through the end before he loses it. 

 

There’s a cacophony of noise as everyone tries to say something (his Dad wiping tears from his face), so Lance takes the opportunity to tug on Shiro’s shirt, tilting his head towards the kitchen. 

 

Shiro nods, standing with him and they make their way out of the din and into the faraway silence of a room _not_ full of several tipsy people. 

 

Despite that, they still hover close to one another. 

 

“Just wanted to give you a chance to regroup if you needed to,” Lance explains. “You need some water?”

 

“It’s been a while since I’ve had such a strong drink… or three.” Shiro makes a face. “Sure.”

 

Lance makes his way around the kitchen, opening the cabinet. 

 

“I didn’t know you were such a terror during your cadet days,” Lance mentions, as he sets about making two glasses of iced water. “Makes me feel a little less guilty about _my_ time as a student.”

 

“Hey-- I had help,” Shiro defends himself, and Lance could _swear_ he’s pouting. “Matt wasn’t the greatest influence.”

 

“Matt’s plans are ridiculous. You can’t tell me you didn’t come up with all the good ideas.” Lance looks at him pointedly. 

 

Shiro holds his hands up. “Alright. You got me there.”

 

Lance fills each glass with water, handing Shiro his when he makes his way back over. 

 

“How did you figure out Iverson’s favorite actor is Nicolas Cage?” he asks. 

 

“Ah,” Shiro says, “at one of the military balls for students, Iverson accidentally drank from one of the spiked bowls of punch.”

 

Lance can see where this is going. In fact, he’s already laughing.

 

“...Aaaand then he _kept_ drinking from the spiked bowls of punch. I don’t know how he erased all the evidence from that night, but he ended up on stage, doing… _really_ terrible impressions of Nicolas Cage. He knew lines from full scenes.” 

 

“I wish I was there to see that,” Lance admits when he’s stopped giggling. Shiro looks like he’d rather forget, himself.

 

Silence descends again, but it’s fine. They simply watch each other over the edge of their glasses, smiling. 

 

Lance sets his glass on the counter beside him, Shiro following suit. 

 

“My mouth still tastes like mint and mustard,” he says, and Lance makes a face. 

 

“I’ll get you an actual mint-- maybe it’ll cancel out the mustard.” 

 

In his hurry, his forgets he _just_ put his water on the counter and swipes it with his hand.

 

Fortunately, Shiro’s reflexes are amazing. He’s grabbed the glass before it can tip over or roll off the counter and splinter into a hundred tiny pieces.

 

_Unfortunately_ , he’s pressed Lance bodily against the counter in his attempt _to_ save the glass, effectively boxing him in. 

 

Lance casts his eyes downward, and God… there’s no space left between them.

 

They’re both suspended in the moment, touching from the chest all the way down to their thighs. Lance is clutching Shiro’s forearm. They’re so close to one another that he can feel the warmth of Shiro’s breath on the side of his face. 

 

Lance chances looking up from under his lashes, meeting Shiro’s eyes. 

 

His steely gaze flicks to Lance’s lips and back up.  

 

Suddenly, the only thing Lance can think of is their earlier kiss. It’s been hard _not_ thinking about it, but he knows if he lets himself, he won’t be able to stop. It had just felt _so_ right, like waking up next to him felt like. Warm. Comfortable. _Consuming_. 

 

His stomach is bottoming out, his heart fluttering as his lips part. 

 

All it would take is moving forward a few inches. 

 

If Shiro would just—

 

“What are you two-- oh!” 

 

Welp. 

 

That’s definitely his mom. 

 

They both move at once, Lance running a hand through his hair as he tries to clear his mind. Shiro rights his glass, turning to his mom. 

 

“Sorry,” he says, like he’s guilty of anything. 

 

“You two are grown men,” she says, amused. “I remember what it was like when I was your age.”

 

“Mmkay, that’s enough of that!” Lance interrupts before she can say anything else. “We were just getting a drink. Is it time to decorate yet? It’s definitely getting late. Isn’t it, Shiro? We should go decorate.”

 

His mom watches them go. 

 

Oh well. It was nice living on this Earthly plane, but he’s so embarrassed, he legally has to throw himself into the ocean. He glances back at Shiro as they go, but he won’t look at Lance at all. 

 

Fuck. Yep. It’s only a half-hour to the beach. He can become one with the waves soon. 

 

Face burning, he forces a smile onto his face as he makes it back into the living room. Veronica gives him a look like she knows he’s upset, but he keeps his smile on his face. Something he learned at the Garrison was that when there isn’t an option to cry, you bottle that shit up until it becomes a problem for tomorrow’s you. 

 

“Are we decorating?” he asks and his Dad grunts, his eyes squinty and hazed over. _Someone_ had too much liquor. 

 

“Luis and Marco went to go get the decorations-- you should assist them, Lance.”

 

“I’ll do that--” Lance says, feeling only a _little_ bad for leaving Shiro alone, but he needs a minute, damn it. 

 

He feels hot all over, for more than one reason. 

 

Matt is a crap planner. He has crap plans. Lance is gonna tell him that he has crap plans, and then never take his advice, ever again. Because it’s crap. 

 

Really, he knows it’s his own fault for going along with it. He should’ve just sucked it up and dealt with his mother’s disappointment and everyone else’s sympathetic glances and silences. He _really, really_ should’ve. 

 

“There you are,” Marco says when Lance arrives in the garage. “We can’t fit into the crawl space of the attic.”

 

“Always sending me to do the dirty work,” Lance comments, grateful for the distraction from his spinning thoughts. He rolls his sleeves up. “There better not be any bats up there. Again.”

 

“Can’t promise anything,” Luis says, holding the ladder steady, even though it’s attached to the house. Lance rolls his eyes. He’s way too overprotective. 

 

Fetching the Christmas decorations gives him something to focus on, so he climbs into the crawl space and gets to work, throwing down boxes at Luis and Marco until there’s nothing else to throw down. 

 

They have to open and re-check everything, to make sure it’s labeled properly and they’re not actually bringing old antiques into the living room. 

 

“This box smells spicy,” Marco complains, waving at the air to disperse some of the cinnamon aroma that lingers on a bag of scented pine cones their mother probably bought last year at the market. 

 

“At least it doesn’t smell like pine,” Luis mentions, trying to fold his box closed again. He turns to look at Lance, who is being quiet as his mind tumbles over the day, over Shiro, over—

 

“My baby brother looks distracted in a bad way. Did that Shiro do something to you?” Luis asks, in Spanish. Lance blinks, furrowing his brows. 

 

“No,” he answers in the same language. “Shiro is a good man. I don’t need protecting.”

 

“He’s older than you,” Luis challenges. “He’s bigger. He could take advantage.”

 

“This isn’t some Harlequin romance novel,” Lance says, irritated. “I’m not a damsel. I’m a grown man. And anyway-- Shiro wouldn’t intentionally hurt me.”

 

“But he could unintentionally, and that worries us,” Marco butts in, and it surprises Lance. He didn’t know Marco felt that way about it, too. “You’re always going to be our baby brother. We will always worry about you.”

 

Lance swallows the urge to get teary-eyed. He’s always been sentimental, but Marco and Luis don’t often talk about their feelings with him. Call it basic Cuban machismo. It’s touching.

 

“Don’t cry,” Luis teases, “we know you love us.”

 

Lance scoffs but doesn’t disagree. 

 

“Shiro is a good man,” Lance says, firm in his belief. “Get to know him.”

 

“So Lisa says.” Luis closes the last box up, sighing as he straightens up. “We’ll give him a chance.”

 

“Yeah,” Marco agrees. 

 

“That’s all I’m asking.”

 

“You sound too grown up,” Luis says, his face doing something complicated. “You make me feel old.”

 

“Well,” Lance answers, in English, “someone has to sound like an adult around here.”

 

“Oi!” Marco exclaims as he picks up his box. 

 

Lance bites his lip to keep from laughing as he leaves the garage. 

 

“Tomorrow, we’ll put the Christmas lights on the house,” Luis says, as they’re walking back to the living room. 

 

“Ugh,” Marco replies, because he’s tall enough and light enough to use the outdoor ladder, and will get stuck with climbing up to pin the lights to the gutter. 

 

Shiro isn’t sitting on the couch when they arrive, so Lance casts his eyes around the room. Veronica catches his roaming gaze and tilts her head towards the veranda. He nods at her, opening the front door and peeking outside. 

 

“Lance!” someone stage whispers, and Lance sticks his head out of the door to find Sylvio huddled behind the large plant base on the porch. 

 

What is that boy doing now?

 

“Get down!” Sylvio hisses, pulling Lance insistently towards his hiding spot. 

 

“What are you doing?” Lance asks, amusement tingeing his voice as he crouches down. “Where’s Shiro?”

 

“You mean Kuron, Shiro’s evil twin?” Sylvio asks, eyes shining in that they do when kids have immersed themselves in their own little world. 

 

“Kuron?”

 

“I’m hiding from him, and Nadia. It’s too late for Nadia. She was turned evil by Kuron!”

 

“Not Nadia…” Lance plays along, looking around fearfully for dramatic effect. Sylvio nods, his demeanor as severe as his little face can make it. 

 

“I tried to save her,” Sylvio says and Lance can barely stomach the mournful look in his eyes, “but Kuron was too strong.”

 

“Maybe if we fight him together, we can beat him and turn Nadia back,” Lance proposes. 

 

“Yes! We need to form Voltron again!” Sylvio stands, knocking Lance onto his ass. “Oops. Sorry, Uncle Lance.”

 

“S’okay,” Lance says, brushing himself off. “Now… let’s go kick some as-- butt and get Nadia back!”

 

“Yeah! Kick some asbutt!” 

 

Whoops. He’s not going to mention to Lisa where he picked that word up. 

 

Lance motions for Sylvio to stay behind him, sneaking down the porch as quietly as one can on creaky wood. Sylvio holds his toy gun close to himself, peering around Lance as they go. 

 

Shiro and Nadia aren’t too far, and they both have their hands over their eyes as Shiro counts down for them. How hide and seek turned this severe, Lance will never know.

 

“Plans have changed… Kuron!” Lance announces, pointing a finger at him like he’s the protagonist of a popular anime. 

 

Shiro drops his hands, jumping in front of Nadia. 

 

“I don’t think so!” ‘Kuron’ says, in a voice so over the top Lance inhales his own spit. 

 

“We’re here to save you, Nadia!” Sylvio announces, brave and proud as he raises his gun. 

 

“I don’ need saving!” Nadia objects, pointing her toy wand at him. 

 

Wow, this is so sad. Lance is sad it’s come to this. 

 

“You’ll never get Nadia back now,” ‘Kuron’ says, and he laughs wickedly. This is telenovela type shit. 

 

“Sylvio,” Lance shouts, “form Voltron!”

 

Lance begins humming a theme song, spinning his body around awkwardly as Sylvio does the same. He bends at the knee, letting Sylvio crawl onto his back. 

 

“Shing~” Lance ends the sequence, holding Sylvio tightly. Damn, he’s getting heavy.

 

“Pow pow pow!” Sylvio shoots his gun, and Shiro dodges, picking up Nadia and twisting her around. She squeals with laughter, giggling increasing as Shiro makes his own sound effects. Shiro sets her down, and she takes a fighting stance.

 

“Blam blam blam!” she says, swinging her wand with a vigor that could put Hank Aaron to shame. 

 

Lance shakes them about, making Sylvio break character as he laughs and holds on tight. 

 

“Pow pow!” he says, and ‘Kuron’ makes a choked noise, holding his chest as he falls to the ground. Sylvio sighs in relief, running to Nadia. 

 

“Is the spell broke?” he asks, and Nadia blinks up at him. 

 

“Yes! You beat Kuron!”

 

“Nadia! Sylvio! We’re decorating the tree now!” Lisa’s voice reaches them from the front porch. 

 

They cheer in unison, dropping their ‘weapons’ where they stand and abandoning their faithful companions. Lances watches them go in fond amusement, hoping they’re always this happy and content. 

 

Biting his lip, he walks over to Shiro, who is still on the ground, eyes closed. He bends over, hands on his knees as he looks down at him. 

 

“Kuron? Still in the land of the living?” 

 

Shiro peeks an eye open at him, closing it again before saying, “I’m part of the ether now.”

 

“Did you take drama at the Garrison?” 

 

Shiro laughs, loud and hearty as he sits up. 

 

“No, but I was in some Monsters & Mana groups way back when. I admit… I got pretty into it.” 

 

“I’m not gonna ask you to elaborate. Were you a nerd this whole time?” Lance asks, and Shiro huffs. 

 

“I’m afraid I have been.”

 

“I can’t believe Keith and I are the cool ones,” Lance muses and offers Shiro his hand. Shiro takes the assistance, lifting himself with Lance’s help. They begin walking back around the house. 

 

“You’re good with kids.”

 

“Am I?” Shiro asks, seemingly embarrassed by the observation. “I don’t have much to go on.”

 

“You’re a natural, Shiro. Usually, the kids are kinda shy. Don’t know where they get _that_ from, considering who their parents are. But they like you-- enough to come up with elaborate plots and rope you into playing with them.”

 

Shiro shrugs. “It’s been a while since I used my imagination. They’re good kids.”

 

“Yep…” Lance trails off, thinking about why he came out here. “I-- sorry about… the kitchen?”

 

Shiro’s smile drops and he shakes his head. 

 

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. If anything,” he looks troubled, “I should be apologizing. So… I’m sorry about that.” 

 

“It’s-- dude, it’s fine, you saved me from having to replace one of my mom’s fancy glasswares.” 

 

Shiro’s silence seems to suggest he didn’t say the right thing.

 

He’s quiet all the way back, though it isn’t much of a distance to cover. He holds the door open for Lance, following him into the living room. 

 

“Ayyy!” Rachel says, “Just in time for decorating!” 

 

There’s still Christmas music going in the background, and everyone’s gathered around their new tree, handing each other tinsel and ornaments. 

 

“Shiro,” his mom says, “come next to me. You can reach farther than I can.”

 

Shiro gives Lance a brief, strained smile before complying. Lance is pulled over by Rachel, but he keeps his eyes on Shiro. His mom is saying something to him, something that makes Shiro look uncomfortable. 

 

“I should--” Lance begins to say, but Rachel holds onto his arm. 

 

“Let her talk,” Rachel orders, “she’s not saying anything bad-- promise.”

 

Lance frowns but complies. 

 

“Lif’ me up, Uncle Lance!” Nadia says, and he turns to her with a grin. She’s holding an ornament at the ready, excitement written all over her features. Lance remembers that feeling in a hazy, muted sort of way. It feels like more of an obligation to decorate the tree now, though spending time with his family is worth it. 

 

“Of course, m’lady!” 

 

He picks her up, holding her steady as she picks a branch to hang her feathered ballerina on. 

 

“There!” 

 

They admire her work before Lance lets her down to search for another special ornament. Sylvio doesn’t care which ornament he grabs, but Nadia is very particular about it. 

 

Lance glances back over to Shiro, unable to help himself. He hates it when he knows things are weird between himself and another person— he’s a people pleaser. It’s in his nature to be concerned about what other people think of him. 

 

His back is turned to Lance, but he can see his mom’s face, and she’s smiling kindly. So… it can’t be all bad? 

 

“Another!” Nadia demands, holding up a Minion ornament. Oh, Nadia… sweet summer child… 

 

“And--” Lance grunts as he hefts her up on his hip, “up we go!” 

 

Nadia throws her body weight forward, almost throwing Lance with her, zeroing in on the perfect tree branch. When she sits back to admire her own work, she looks starry-eyed.

 

“He’s so happy there,” she whispers in awe. 

 

“Yeah, I can see that,” Lance admits, tilting his head to take in her handiwork. Godspeed, little Minion. 

 

Nadia wiggles out of his arms again, running over to yell at her dad for picking an ornament she’s had her sights on. Luis starts arguing back because he’s ignorant. He should know by now this isn’t an argument he’s going to win. 

 

“So tell me more about Shiro,” Rachel says, fixing up an ornament of her own. 

 

“You’ve spent time with him,” Lance counters, side-eyeing her. 

 

“Not like that-- I mean, is he a good boyfriend?” she whispers. “Do I need to harm him bodily?”

 

“Why does everyone think Shiro’s a bad guy?” Lance mutters, mostly to himself. “No, you don’t need to harm him bodily.” 

 

“Good, cause I think he’s _so_ cute. You’ve got great taste,” Rachel concedes, fixing one of the fake tree limbs. “And I saw him with the kids. He’d be a great dad.”

 

“Woah-- pump the breaks, Rachel,” Lance says, looking around nervously. 

 

“Like you haven’t thought about it. He’d be a DILF.”

 

“What’s a DILF?” Nadia asks loudly from where she’s snuck up to Lance’s elbow. 

 

He definitely doesn’t squeal. 

 

“It’s a… gnome,” Rachel answers, slapping her own forehead as soon as it comes out of her mouth. 

 

“Is it a scary gnome? Is the DILF gonna hurt me?” 

 

“ _Only if you talk about it out loud,”_ Lance wheezes, shooting a glare towards Rachel. She looks sheepish but shrugs at him. 

 

“Ohhhhh! Okay!” 

 

As soon as she’s out of earshot, Lance smacks Rachel on the arm. 

 

“Don’t call my boyfriend a DILF.” He pauses for a moment. “Although, objectively, yes he’d be a total DILF.”

 

“He’s got one little dimple when he smiles,” Rachel says, her eyes trained across the room where Shiro is reaching up to tack a bow to the banister at his mother’s request. His shirt is riding up slightly, revealing the small of his back. 

 

“Dimples there, too,” Lance says, without much thought. His fingers come up to his own lips, touching them subconsciously. 

 

“Your face looks _disgustening_ right now,” Rachel says, and he flips her off.

 

“Jealousy, thy name is Rachel.”

 

“Whatever,” she mutters, going back to fixing the tree. “I’ll get my own gnome one day.”

 

By the time his dad finishes the tree by topping it with an angel, Luis has gone to pick up pizza and everyone is admiring the transformation. 

 

Sometimes, when Lance sees the finished decorations, he feels like a child again. He can chase that magical feeling of experiencing something through “new” eyes. Their tree turned out beautifully, sparkling white and warm, covered in ornaments and tinsel. There are lights strewn about the banister of the stairs, bows pinned to the top of the hanging ceiling. Stockings line their fireplace, which is also covered in pine, cranberry, lights, and pictures with text that say things like ‘Merry and Bright’ and ‘Believe’. 

 

“It’s so cozy in here,” Veronica sighs. “I wish we could keep the decorations up all the time.”

 

“Me too,” Rachel says, snapping pictures with her phone. 

 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

 

Lance snags a box of pizza, 2 plastic cups, and a 2-liter of soda, and ushers Shiro out of the room before anyone can notice. He doesn’t know about Shiro, but he’s had a lot of interaction today and even _he’s_ a little tired of the scrutiny. 

 

Closing his bedroom door behind them, he follows Shiro to the bed and blessèd sanctuary. 

 

“Sorry it’s not a gourmet meal, but it got a lot later than anyone realized,” Lance apologizes, filling Shiro’s cup for him and placing on the bedside table nearest him. He pours himself his own, capping the soda and sitting cross-legged on the bed. 

 

“Are you kidding? I haven’t had pizza in forever,” Shiro admits, opening the box. He hovers for a moment before selecting a slice. 

 

“Oops, paper towels,” Lance says, speed walking to the bathroom and coming back with a roll. “We’re gonna need these.”

 

“God bless,” Shiro projects skywards, taking a bite. 

 

Lance follows suit, eyes rolling back as he tastes _literal_ heaven. He’s forgotten how pizza tastes, which is literally homophobic. Since the Garrison is a military establishment, sneaking in foods or going to get them is pretty much unheard of (though that doesn’t stop him from trying— it’s just a _long_ way to civilization and he’d have to walk there _and_ back). He’s missed pizza too. 

 

“This should be illegal,” Shiro sighs, taking another bite. He’s anything but dainty when he eats, cheese catching and stretching from his lips. Lance is thoroughly amused when he chases the cheese with his tongue. 

 

“We _have_ to find a way to get pizza back at the Garrison,” Lance says, wiping his mouth with his napkin. He can’t live without this any longer. It’s cruel and unusual punishment. 

 

“I used to sneak out and steal cruisers from the cargo bay when I was younger. I could _probably_ swing it,” Shiro muses. Lance’s jaw drops. 

 

“ _You_ stole cruisers?”

 

“What? Like it’s hard?” 

 

“Don’t quote Legally Blonde at me while I’m processing this. How? What did you even do with them?”

 

“Drove them around,” Shiro deadpans, and Lance throws his hands up in the air. 

 

“Fine then. Keep your secrets, Shirogane! I’ll just have to figure out how to do it myself, you know.”

 

“I _do_ know,” Shiro says, smile turning warm and personal. “I have full faith that you’ll put yourself in the line of fire to bring us all pizza. You’re a real hero.”

 

“Okay, now you’re just sucking up, buddy!” 

 

“All joking aside, I do know, Lance.” He sets his pizza back into the box they’re sharing. His smile is wry, charming. “You’re incredibly resourceful when you want to be. It’s gotten us a lot of great results.”

 

Oh. 

 

“Th-thanks,” Lance stutters, not knowing what to say other than that. Boy is he bad at taking compliments. _Especially_ from Shiro. 

 

He clears his throat, taking a breath. 

 

“I guess I’m pretty co--,” he starts just before he bites another slice of pizza. Half his toppings fall off onto the box. “--ol.”

 

Shiro dissolves into abrupt laughter, only quieting when Lance tries to steal his pizza in retaliation. 

 

He holds it out of the way as simple as blinking, chuckling when Lance’s weight topples them over. Lance braces himself on his chest, reaching up to grab at Shiro’s wrist. 

 

“That’s cheating,” Shiro says, and Lance looks down at him. 

 

“I’m exempt from all law here,” he says, matter-of-factly. “Legally, I could eat all this pizza and the penalty would be nothing.”

 

“That’s legal everywhere, Lance.”

 

“I’m just saying-- legally? I’m not even here.” 

 

“That doesn’t make sense,” Shiro comments, letting Lance grab his slice from his hand. ‘Letting him’ being the key words. 

 

“Legally, I don’t have to make sense,” Lance says, taking a bite of the pizza and making a ridiculous exaggerated noise of delight. 

 

“Legally,” Shiro begins, “I’m going to have to kill you for eating my pizza.”

 

“Well, Shiro, it’s legal, so you do you.”

 

Shiro grabs him up tightly, shocking Lance into screeching as he’s rolled over. 

 

“Nononono--!” is all Lance gets out before he’s being dumped on the floor. He lands with an ‘oof’, blinking up at Shiro in surprise. 

 

“That was legal, right?” Shiro asks, the absolute _asshole_. 

 

“Oh, I’ll show you legal--” Lance growls, yanking Shiro by the shirt. He loses his equilibrium on the edge of the bed, and Lance uses the leverage to drag him onto the floor. 

 

Shiro has the audacity to _laugh_ , his legs still hanging onto the bed valiantly. Their struggle is for naught. Lance pulls at them until they slip all the way off, standing up to close the pizza and pull the comforter from underneath it. He throws the cover over Shiro, then follows with the pillows, slapping them down with force. 

 

“How’d you like _tha--_ ” 

 

One of the pillows hits Lance in the face, knocking him off balance, but only for a moment. He’s trained for this! 

 

Grabbing the pillow that hit him, he whacks Shiro on the shoulder, only to get slapped in the gut. He feels giddy, grabbing pillows where he can and dodging Shiro, whose mouth is stretched into a wide smile. He looks like a child, bright-eyed and excited. 

 

Finally, Shiro pulls the cover from under Lance’s feet, making him slip and fall backward onto his carpeted floor. Shiro uses the moment in his favor (like he always insists on doing during training), straddling Lance and pinning his wrists to the floor. 

 

Lance is too breathless with laughter to even try to fight, all the strength zapped out of him. He calms slowly, watching Shiro laugh with abandon. There’s no tension in his shoulders, no serious crease between his brow. 

 

It strikes him that he would do anything to have Shiro always look this happy. 

 

The laughter tapers off, little bursts of giggles bubbling back up until Shiro looks down, catching Lance staring. 

 

They both seem to realize their position at the same time, but instead of moving they both keep still. Lance feels compelled to stay, to hold Shiro’s gaze, to catalog how Shiro’s body feels on top of his-- how his thick thighs frame Lance’s waist, the way the muscle moves as he tenses, how the weight feels pinning him down. 

 

Lance swears if he lifted his hands, shocks of electricity would cling to his finger tips. His stomach drops and he feels it all the way to his toes, feels the air move against Shiro’s lips as he parts them, hears his own heart beating like a drum line. 

 

He wants to move— away, closer, with purpose, to hide. Shiro’s eyes fall to the way he’s biting his lips. 

 

He shifts above Lance, loosening his hold on Lance’s wrists, his thumbs swiping across the flat of Lance’s palms. 

 

“Lance,” he says, so quiet, his voice almost hoarse despite there no reason for it to be. 

 

“ _HELL NAW TO THE NAW NAW NAW. (HELL TO THE NAW). HELL TO THE NAW TO THE NAW NAW NAW--”_

 

The sound has Shiro letting go as he startles, sitting up as he looks around. Lance immediately rubs his own eyes with shaking hands. 

 

“That’s Hunk,” he says, and Shiro looks back down at him. “I should answer it.”

 

Shiro lifts himself with ease, helping Lance up to his feet. 

 

“-- _TO THE NAW NAW, TO THE NAW NAW HEEEEELL--”_

 

_“_ Hello?” Lance answers, escaping to the privacy of his bathroom and locking the door behind him. 

 

“Dude, what happened? You never called me. You left me on _read_. I gotta say, Lance, that hurts.” 

 

“Sorry-- fuck. It’s been… so strange. Good strange, uh… and maybe bad strange. I messed up, Hunk.” Lance sits on the closed toilet cover in defeat. 

 

“You sound really bad. What happened?” Hunk repeats, his concern clear in his voice. What Lance wouldn’t do to actually be near him right now. He’s such a grounding presence, and Lance feels like he’s suspended in the air, up in the clouds. 

 

“I think I--” Lance cuts himself off. He can’t say it. If he articulates what he’s feeling, he won’t be able to pluck it back out of air and swallow it back down. 

 

“Lance?” 

 

“Hunk, I think I’m really falling for Shiro,” he admits, keeping his voice low and hating the silence that follows his confession. He already feels so out of his depth, like he’s standing on a precipice. He _needs_ Hunk’s support right now. “I mean, it’s been a long time coming, but this trip is only making it _worse_.”

 

“Why is that a bad thing?” Hunk asks kindly. 

 

“Because I’m scared. Because we’re all a team. Because I don’t want him to reject him. Because I don’t want to hurt anyone. Should I go on?” He runs a frustrated hand through his hair, looking to the ceiling. 

 

“Lance-- take it from a guy who is 99% scared at all times. I let a lot of opportunities pass me by, but _you_ taught me to be courageous--”

 

“Forced you--”

 

“And now it’s not so hard to take a leap of faith and land in something pretty good.”

 

“Or terrible,” Lance grumbles, thinking of the many times they’ve gotten into some shit by doing just that. 

 

“But we always survive, and it becomes a good story to share when we get back.” Hunk makes a happy noise. “I think Shiro grounds you, and I think you make it hard for Shiro to retreat into his... shell? Behind his massive wall made of really tough titanium. What I’m saying is that I think it’s a good match.”

 

“You’re supposed to be chastising me or pointing out that I’m taking advantage in some way.”

 

“You know I’m not gonna say that, buddy. If you want, I can put Keith on the phone?”

 

“Do _not_.” Lance is quiet for a moment, the buzzing of crickets outside of the bathroom window filling the silence. “I’m just scared.”

 

“Because of Allura?” Hunk hazards a guess. 

 

“I think,” Lance says, adding, “Partly.”

 

“Shiro isn’t Allura!” Keith says in the background, and Lance rolls his eyes. 

 

“Nosy ass, mullet-having ass, pointy-chin ass...,” he grumbles. 

 

“You gotta give him a chance,” Hunk agrees. Typical. 

 

“Woah woah woah-- this is all hypothetical. I don’t think Shiro is interested in me like that.”

 

Keith scoffs in the background. 

 

“Well, he agreed to do this with you, so he’s comfortable enough to kiss you. Wait-- _have_ you kissed?” Hunk asks, ever the romance fan. The dude loves love. It’s in his nature. 

 

“Didn’t you see my Instagram post?” 

 

“Aw, you know I don’t check Instagram a lot, buddy. But, hold on, let me look.”

 

It takes a few moments before Hunk lets out an excited gasp. 

 

“Oh my gosh, Lance. _Oh my gosh._ ” 

 

“I don’t want to see it--” Keith says, faraway. 

 

“You _have_ to-- look at how gently Shiro is holding Lance. Look at them _laughing_ together,” Hunk rambles, and Lance finds himself smiling. The pictures had turned out great like Rachel said. They look like a real, genuine couple. Lance even wrote, “my better half” on the post, complete with heart emojis. 

 

“Shiro’s _really_ laughing,” Keith mentions, sounding closer-- like he’s looking anyway, despite his insistence _not_ to. 

 

“Duh. He always laughs around Lance,” Hunk says indignantly. 

 

“No he doesn’t,” Keith counters, and Lance can just picture his arms crossing defensively. 

 

“Uh, yeah he does,” Hunk states, matter-of-fact. “You’re just too busy brooding.”

 

“I don't brood,” Keith grumbles. 

 

“If it makes you feel better, dude, ok.”

 

“I should probably… stop hiding in my bathroom,” Lance says, rubbing at his eyes. 

 

“We miss you guys. Why’d you have to leave earlier than us?”

 

“Aren’t you going home tomorrow?” 

 

“Yes. Keith is totally freaking out,” Hunk says, “and brooding.”

 

“ _Hunk_!” Keith warns, and Lance laughs. He misses them, too. They _live_ together— it’s hard not to. 

 

“But, seriously-- good luck with this Lance. Don’t get overwhelmed. Call when you need to-- _or_ want to? You don’t have to wait. I mean, I won’t answer tomorrow cause I’ll be traveling, but… you know what I mean?”

 

“Yeah, buddy,” Lance answers, smiling at his rambling. 

 

“Okay, bye dude.”

 

“Bye.”

 

Lance hangs up and pockets his phone, using the bathroom and washing his hands for an excessively long time in order to avoid going back out. He’s still kinda hungry, though. 

 

When he opens the door, Shiro is sitting on the newly made bed, lost in thought. 

 

“Sorry,” Lance says, and Shiro turns to look at him, “that was Hunk-- and Keith.”

 

“How are they doing?” Shiro asks, maybe because it’s an easy out. Maybe because he doesn’t want to acknowledge what was happening as much as Lance doesn’t. 

 

“They’re leaving tomorrow. Keith is freaking out.”

 

“I’ll call him later,” Shiro says. “Saved you some more pizza.”

 

“Oh good, I’m still hungry,” Lance admits, crawling onto the bed and opening the box. The pizza is still warm, and he digs in. 

 

When he looks up, Shiro is watching him seriously, which makes his heart jump into motion. Shiro opens his mouth, Lance swallowing his bite of pizza nervously. 

 

“Your mother mentioned that she was surprised you haven’t taken me sightseeing yet. Said you love your hometown and are always more than willing to show it off.”

 

Lance nods, chewing thoughtfully. It’d be nice to get a day to themselves where they’re not expected to hold up pretenses for their family. Lance likes a good performance, but with his feelings towards Shiro throwing him off, he hasn’t felt much like pretending. 

 

“I can get Lisa to give me the keys to Luis’ Jeep. It’s a Rubicon.” Lance wiggles his brows, shimmying a little in his excitement. His brother takes it mudding most of the time, but it’s fun in general. 

 

“Is that right?” Shiro asks, smiling. “If he doesn’t mind.”

 

“You can drive,” Lance says, laughing lightly. 

 

“Deal.”

 

Lance makes to bite his pizza but stops. 

 

“Uh… is that a half-eaten slice of pizza stuck to my ceiling?”

 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

 

Waking up next to Shiro again isn’t any easier than it was the first time, mostly because Shiro is wide awake, but hasn’t moved. In fact, he’s watching Lance quite unabashedly. 

 

Shiro’s just as warm as he was yesterday and they’re just as intertwined, feet touching feet. Shiro is close enough for Lance to see the patterns in his irises. He seems content where he is, blinking at Lance slowly.  

 

“G’morning,” Lance whispers, reluctant to break the silence. 

 

“Good morning,” Shiro replies, his voice low and gravelly with sleep. It sends a tendril of flame licking through Lance’s insides. 

 

Staying here would be fine, but that’s not what they had planned and they’d probably get interrupted by well-meaning family members anyway. 

 

“I haven’t slept like this in a while. Too many days in a row,” Shiro mentions, pulling in a long inhale through his nostrils, which turns into a large yawn. He blinks the resulting tears from his vision. 

 

“In a good way?”

 

Shiro hums his affirmative, settling his head further into his pillow. 

 

“You have stubble,” Lance announces in awe, just noticing it. He reaches out, rubbing his hand up and down on Shiro’s cheek to feel it. He realizes he’s petting Shiro without permission a few seconds later. “Oh-- sorry.”

 

“S’okay. I shave it every morning at the Garrison, but figured a few days wouldn’t matter here.”

 

Lance reaches back out, fingers catching on the short, coarse hairs Shiro has grown in just a small amount of time. Lance’s face is baby smooth and probably always will be. 

 

“You’d look really good with a beard,” Lance says, dragging his fingertips down Shiro’s chin and letting his hand drop to his chest. 

 

Shiro is silent, but he takes Lance’s hand in his, holding it close. 

 

God, he doesn’t know what’s happening. Is Shiro interested? Like, genuinely interested? 

 

Lance doesn’t _know_ , and, despite popular theory, he’s _not_ confident enough to ask. In fact, it would probably break his stupid, dumb heart if Shiro rejected him. 

 

He’s such a mess. 

 

He’s never been happier. 

 

“Think your father is making breakfast again this morning?” Shiro asks. 

 

“Oh yeah.”

 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

 

Getting up and going eventually happens, though they both drag their asses as much as possible. 

 

His dad _did_ make breakfast again— fresh eggs, fresh steak, fresh milk, some newly made bread, and some jam from the farmer’s market. Shiro looked like he’d died and gone to heaven, complimenting his father just enough for him to turn pink. 

 

Shiro and Lance’s father ended up chatting about work over coffee, and Lance swears he saw hearts in his dad’s eyes. Lance thinks Shiro’s had his approval right from the start.

 

In exchange for Luis’ keys to the Rubicon, Lance ended up making a deal with Lisa to do Sylvio and Nadia’s present wrapping. A win-win situation for him, because he _likes_ wrapping. It’s an art. 

 

… and worth it, Lance thinks, when he sees the look on Shiro’s face. 

 

“All yours, buddy,” he says, handing Shiro the keys. 

 

They make it to Lance’s destination in record time, a grin stretching across Shiro’s features as they drive. He’s a natural, handling the vehicle like any other challenge that’s presented to him. 

 

“Saturno Cave?” Shiro asks as he reads it off the sign. Lance nods, wiggling in his seat as they find a parking space. 

 

“I brought you a pair of swim trunks and a tank top,” Lance says when they hop out. Shiro takes the offered clothing, raising a brow at him. “Saturno Cave is a cenote! You’ll see, c’mon. We’ll use the bathrooms to change.”

 

They do just that, making a trip back to the Rubicon to drop off their regular clothing. 

 

It’s a long, winding staircase to the entrance of the cenote, and tourists and locals alike are going back and forth. There’s lots of foliage surrounding the path, and just as many bugs to match it. The sun is beating down on them, and the humidity makes it worse, but Lance thinks it’s worth it for the end result. 

 

The mouth of the cave is wide and open, shedding light into the stalactite and stalagmite-filled space. There’s almost clear, blue water lining the bottom of the cenote. People are milling about, taking pictures, and jumping into the water, coming up sputtering at the temperature. 

 

“I’ve never been to a cenote before. It’s beautiful,” Shiro breathes, stepping down the stairs but having a hard time looking away from the sight. 

 

“Ready to swim?” Lances asks, doing a bad job of keeping the eagerness from his face. 

 

“Is it cold?” Shiro asks. 

 

“ _Oh_ yeah-- but you get used to it.” 

 

Shiro stands at the end of the staircase, looking over into the water. 

 

“After you,” he offers, and Lance doesn’t need to be told twice. He gets a running start and cannonballs directly into the middle of the water, sucking in a shocked breath when he surfaces. 

 

“C-c-c’mon in, Sh-shiro. The w-water’s f-fine,” Lance chatters, visibly shaking as his body gets used to the cold. 

 

“I 100% believe what you just said to me,” Shiro says, putting his hands on his hips. He shakes his head, turning around. Lance is about to whine at him when Shiro turns and jumps towards him. He flails around uselessly, narrowly missing Shiro barreling into him. The backsplash slaps him in the face. 

 

He laughs when Shiro comes up, making a high-pitched noise when he gets the chills. 

 

“O-oh yeah,” he snarks. “The w-water is def-definitely f-fine.” 

 

They take their time getting used to the temperature and find themselves relaxing soon enough. People are yelling and laughing around them, the echo reverberating from the cavern walls, but they don’t pay them any mind. 

 

Lance feels in his element here, surrounded by water and right next to Shiro, whose eyes are closed as he floats. 

 

They converse every few minutes, mentioning the water or how the team would’ve reacted to the cave, laughing at each image that comes up. 

 

“Hey Shiro,” Lance says, staring up at the reflections of water on the ceiling of the cave.

 

“Hm?” Shiro asks lazily, bumping into Lance as he floats.

 

“Do you think aliens exist?”

 

“Well, you’re here, so…”

 

“You meant that as an insult, but I’m choosing to take it as a compliment.”

 

“I’m not sure, Lance. There’s not really any empirical evidence suggesting alien life exists.” 

 

“Don’t you think the universe is too big to say, ‘hey, we’re the only creatures that exist in the entirety of this shit’?” 

 

“Huh. Good point. What did Pidge say when you asked her?”

 

“How’d you know I asked her?” Lance asks. Why does everyone assume he goes to Pidge for every answer to everything? “Also, she said she thought there were aliens somewhere out there. Probably too far away to ever make contact with us.”

 

“Do you _want_ aliens to exist, Lance?” Shiro asks, mirth in his tone. 

 

“It’d be badass to make out with a hot alien babe, I’m just saying.”

 

“Ouch!” Shiro splashes about to Lance’s right, probably straightening up. “You’re not supposed to say that stuff in front of your boyfriend, Lance.” 

 

“I’m not saying you can’t join us,” Lance answers, smirking up at the rock face. 

 

“Oh, it’s like that, huh?” Shiro growls, and Lance finds himself with a face full of water. 

 

He sputters, righting himself quickly. 

 

“Shiro!” 

 

“What?” he asks, looking as if he’s never done anything wrong ever in his life. 

 

Lance jumps at him, pressing his hands on Shiro’s shoulders and dunking him underwater. He squeaks when Shiro, much stronger than him, pulls him down with him. 

 

Pushing at Shiro, he lets out a few bubbles as he laughs without meaning to. Surfacing, he smiles broadly as Shiro runs a hand through his hair, making sure it’s out of his face. 

 

“It looks nice pushed back,” Lance mentions, reaching out to curl one singular piece forward. Watch out, Clark Kent. “Those ladies behind you are talking about how hot you are.”

 

Shiro looks back, prompting the girls to flutter about nervously, blushing. He turns back to Lance, rueful for having turned back on instinct. 

 

“Not you?” Shiro asks, paddling a little closer, and Lance is sure he understands the intent. He runs his hands along Shiro’s forearms, the dips created by sinuous muscle, all the way up to hold onto his shoulders. 

 

“Probably too skinny for them,” Lance mentions, smiling up at Shiro. Their feet are tangling together under the water. 

 

Shiro’s forehead creases, even as his hands rest on Lance’s hips. “I wouldn’t describe you as ‘skinny’.”

 

“Oh?” Lance asks, unable to prevent the flirtatious ring to the single word. “How would you describe me, Shiro?”

 

“Oh,” Shiro says, chagrined. “Um. Ok, uh--”

 

Lance makes a painful noise, clutching his chest dramatically, sinking into the water. “Ugh, my confidence… is… decreasing…”

 

“Pretty!” Shiro blurts, closing his mouth with an audible click. 

 

Now it’s Lance’s turn to blush, eyelashes brushing his cheeks as he looks down shyly. 

 

“Sorry,” Shiro mutters. “I mean-- I mean, yes, I suppose I’d use the word pretty to describe you.”

 

“Thanks,” Lance says, looking up at him. “They’re disappointed now, by the way.”

 

“Well… mission accomplished?” 

 

Lance lets himself float backward, licking the salt water from his lips. 

 

“I’m getting all pruned up. We should dry off while we still have the sun for it.”

 

“Sounds like a good idea,” Shiro agrees.

 

They make to swim back towards the wooden dock, keeping close to the rockface to avoid a rather large group of tourists who’ve just jumped in for the first time. Lance narrowly averts an elbow to the face, jerking back just in time. 

 

“Sorry!” the guy says, swimming away quickly. 

 

Lance brushes it off with a wave. He tries to push off the rock but is jerked backward as his shorts catch on it. 

 

“Dang it,” he complains, tugging experimentally on the fabric. How the hell did he manage to get his shorts caught?

 

Doesn’t matter. He continues to yank at them, to no avail. 

 

“You okay?” Shiro asks, backtracking to meet him. 

 

“I got this!” Lance assures him. He totally does. He’s a fully grown, capable human being. 

 

Which is why he happens to rip his swim shorts completely off on the next hard tug. 

 

There’s a moment of frozen shock where his brain goes, ‘Aw, fuck, I can’t believe you’ve done this.’

 

True panic sets in when he feels the traitorous clothing start to sink. His toes stretch out to try and grab it before he can even think to use his hands, but he fumbles, accidentally kicking them further into the depths… where he can’t see… 

 

“Uhh,” he says.

 

“Lance?” 

 

“Shiro,” Lance says, trying to keep calm.

 

He still totally has this. It’s fine. If there’s anything he’s learned at the Garrison, it’s that most situations are salvageable with teamwork.  

 

“So,” he begins, avoiding Shiro’s eyes, “I may or may not have just lost my swim shorts.”

 

Shiro’s mouth opens and closes a few times.

 

“I’m sorry, what?” he settles on. 

 

“Shiro,” Lance says between clenched teeth, “I _lost my fucking swim shorts._ ” 

 

Shiro’s eyes drift downwards, and Lance squeaks, covering himself with his hands. 

 

“Avert your eyes!!” 

 

“Sorry! Uh. I guess I’m... just confused as to how this happened in less than a minute?”

 

“It’s because I’m lying to my mom in her own home. _Brujería_ ,” Lance laments, almost screaming when he sees someone dip underwater with _goggles_. “Oh my god, my virtue!”

 

“What virtue?” Shiro asks, even as Lance uses him as a human shield from prying eyes.

 

“This is no time for jokes, Shiro! Also, good one. I’d high five you, but there’s nothing else covering my sensitive parts.” 

 

“How are you going to make it back up without someone calling the cops?” Shiro asks, his eyes trailing up the aforementioned stairs. That’s a _lot_ of tourists. 

 

“I’m obviously going to have to live my life down here as a cave goblin, feeding off of positive energy for sustenance. Y’know, like Pidge in her computer room, but I’m completely naked and defenseless!”

 

“You all worry me so much.” 

 

“Am I going to have to streak in front of these people, Shiro? Give it to me straight.”

 

Shiro nods gravely. 

 

“If you tell Keith about this, I’ll tell them all about the time I walked in on you singing Backstreet Boys in the training room.” Lance pauses at the look of shock on Shiro’s face. “Yeah, that’s right, buddy! I seent it!” 

 

“I have never done that in my life. Personally, I am against mudslinging to beat your opponent, and frankly, how do I know that it wasn’t you in there singing Backstreet Boys?”

 

“I filmed it.”

 

“Lance _McClain_ ,” Shiro reprimands, his eyebrows furrowing. 

 

“Don’t act like you all don’t have ten thousand different types of blackmail material on me! I have _one_ piece of blackmail and you’re looking at me like I killed your boyfriend!”

 

“ _You’re_ my boyfriend,” Shiro jokes, smiling. 

 

“ _Exactly_. Not a _word_ of this to _anyone_. Now help me get up.” 

 

“Kinky.”

 

“ _Oh_ my _God_ , Shiro. You could’ve chosen any other day to reveal your sense of humor.”

 

“What would be the fun in that?” Shiro says over his shoulder, climbing onto the dock. Lance looks behind Shiro anxiously. There are so many people. So many people are gonna see his naked ass. 

 

“I could always remove my shirt and let you use it to cover yourself,” Shiro suggests, crouching down. He’s dripping onto the dock. 

 

“What?! I didn’t even think of that, Shiro. Oh my God, I owe you,” he gushes, making grabby hands. Shiro strips, and it’s a testament to how distraught Lance is that he doesn’t brain himself on the dock immediately after. 

 

Shiro tosses the shirt to him, and he reaches out, only for someone _else_ to knock into him from behind. There’s no saving him from his fate.  

 

The tank top joins his shorts in the deep. 

 

“Wow,” Shiro says. 

 

“ _Brujeríaaaaa_ ,” Lance cries, contemplating the value of drowning himself here and now. 

 

“Usually I’d have some sort of advice or words of encouragement in situations like this,” Shiro mentions. “I have absolutely no idea what to say right now.”

 

“Just don’t say anything,” Lance whispers, clinging to the dock banister for dear life. He’s full of _ragrets_. 

 

“Alright,” Shiro says, squaring his shoulders. “We can do this, Lance. It… might be a little embarrassing, but working together will get us through this.”

 

Lance looks up at Shiro hopefully, his lower lip pouting outwards.

 

“I’m going to pull you up. As soon as you’re able, jump onto my back, and I’ll give you a piggyback ride up the stairs. People will see the backside of you, but the front will be completely covered.”

 

That means that Lance’s entire front is going to be plastered to Shiro’s insanely muscular back. Lance’s entire naked front… on Shiro’s bare skin… 

 

Oh _Hell_ no. 

 

“You know what,” Lance begins, “If I’m doing this, I’m _doing_ this. We’re gonna turn this situation around, Shiro.”

 

“Lance…”

 

“If I’m banned from _Saturno Cave_ , it’s gonna be for a good reason. As soon as you pull me out, I’m taking off. Pretend like you don’t know me.”

 

“I can’t just let you do this alone,” Shiro says. “We’re a team.”

 

“Sometimes, sacrifices have to be made.” Lance steels himself. “Alright, let’s do this.”

 

“Are you sure about this?” Shiro asks, holding a hand out to him. Lance nods, grabbing the outstretched offering and feeling himself be pulled out far too easily. God, he must feel like a pillowcase of feathers to Shiro. 

 

There’s a moment where he finds himself firm on his feet in front of Shiro, water trickling down his bare skin. 

 

Shiro just stands there, eyes slowly drifting the length of his body. 

 

Huh. 

 

“I’ll be… right behind you...,” he trails off, biting his lip. His gaze lingers on the ‘v’ of Lance’s hips, slipping over toned thighs and shapely calves. 

 

Oh. 

 

Lance’s body flushes hot. 

 

“Hey!” someone shouts, finally noticing his lack of clothing. Lance yelps, pushing Shiro out of the way and taking off with one hand covering his crotch. 

 

If his mom ever figures out what he’s done here, he’s dead for sure. Witchcraft won’t even cover what she’ll do to him. 

 

Still, there’s a thrill running through him as he dodges people left and right. He feels a little bad for some of the parents trying to shield their children’s eyes from him, but there’s nothing he can do about it. 

 

He jumps a few stairs at a time, shooting a finger gun at a group of girls who whistle and shout at him. His feet catch on a tree root, but a strong arm keeps him upright and he does a double-take at Shiro. 

 

“You were supposed to pretend not to know me!” Lance yells. 

 

“And miss this?” he asks. 

 

“Stop right there!” One of the attendants is pointing at them, and Lance lets out a yelp, barreling through a group of tourists whose cameras flash as he zooms by. Shiro is laughing helplessly but keeping pace beside him. 

 

They reach the Rubicon but not without sacrifice. Lance hasn’t run that many stairs since Garrison summer boot camp. His thighs are going to be screaming at him come tomorrow. 

 

“Go, go, go!” Lance urges, pushing Shiro towards the driver’s side. Shiro unhooks the key from where he fastened it to his shorts. Good thing _he_ was wearing the key. 

 

The attendant is huffing and puffing, but slowly limping his way across the parking lot. He pushes a tourist out of the way, shouting something about ‘Varkon’ and ‘hot pursuit’. 

 

“Shiro, hurry!” 

 

“Got it!” Shiro says, unlocking the door and jumping in. He starts the car just as Lance hops inside, peeling out of the parking lot just as the attendant makes it over. Lance can see him lean over, hands on his knees as he breathes heavily, watching them leave. 

 

“Hope Luis isn’t... too fond of this place-- cause that guy is... definitely memorizing his tag number,” Lance says, his words punctuated by panting. He sucks in a deep breath, exhaling it in a sigh as he relaxes against the seat. 

 

They drive for at least five minutes before Shiro looks over at him. 

 

He glances over at Shiro. 

 

They burst into laughter, Lance doubling over in his seat. Shiro pulls over, parking the car and pressing a hand to his bare abs. There’s still water droplets clinging stubbornly to his skin. 

 

“I can’t believe,” Lance laughs, “that just happened.”

 

“Honestly, with the stuff you’ve done at the Garrison? I’m not surprised. Poor Hunk. I can only imagine what you’ve put him through.” Shiro wipes a tear from his eye, chuckling intermittently. 

 

“I’m still naked,” Lance comments, and Shiro starts laughing again, accidentally honking the horn and sending them into a spiral. They laugh until they’re breathless, until their faces start hurting and they can’t anymore. 

 

“We should get dressed,” Shiro suggests, looking down at himself. “I think we got your brother’s seats wet.” 

 

“Let’s not mention that? Maybe?” Lance sighs. “Let me go first and then I’ll tell you when I’m finished.”

 

“Sure,” Shiro says, and Lance drops out of the vehicle, making his way to the back and opening the trunk. 

 

When Lance sees the stack of towels and clean clothes he frowns.

 

“I could’ve sent you here first to get these, now that I think about it,” Lance comments, raising his voice so Shiro can hear him. 

 

“Get what?”

 

“Towels. Extra clothes.”

 

“That would’ve been... easier,” Shiro agrees. “Hindsight is always 20/20.”

 

“God, everyone got some of my hind in sight. I can never show my face there again.” 

 

“Or your ass.” 

 

“Your commentary is unneeded and you’re bullying me!” Lance complains as he pulls a dry pair of boxers on. “Blocked and reported.” 

 

Shiro smiles at him in the rearview. 

 

Switching with him when he’s (thankfully) dressed, Lance fiddles with his sunglasses until Shiro has taken his turn.  

 

“So, which way?” Shiro asks, when he’s back in the driver’s seat. 

 

Lance directs them out, rolling down his window and pulling the Jeep top down for the breeze. He connects his phone to the Bluetooth in the Jeep, selecting a playlist and keeping it low as Shiro drives. 

 

They’re quiet for a while, just enjoying the scenery and the music. Shiro surprises Lance by humming along to a few songs and turning it up on a classic rock song. 

 

“You into classic rock?” Lance asks. He learned to love it from his dad.

 

“I like most genres, but there’s nothing better than a good classic. 60s, 70s, 80s? Can’t get enough.”

 

“Your request is my command!”

 

“Mm, do you have--” he pauses to think “-- _Roadhouse Blues_?”

 

“By _The Doors_?” Lance asks in disbelief. “Of course I do.”

 

The first chords strike, and Shiro gives Lance a captivating grin, twisting the volume dial to the right. The sound fills the entire Jeep space, Jim Morrison’s voice crooning at them— that slight grit to his voice sending them to another scene, somewhere dingy and dark, billows of smoke permeating the air.

 

“You still want to see what I did with the cruisers back at the Garrison?” Shiro yells above the music, a mischievous note to his voice. 

 

Lance furrows his brows but grins nonetheless.  

 

“What do you mean?” 

 

“You mentioned that you wanted to see what I did back when I was still in my rebellious stage. Still want to?” 

 

Suddenly, Lance can see where Keith got his smirk from. Shiro wears it well. 

 

Swallowing, Lance nods, butterflies in his stomach. 

 

“Hold on,” Shiro warns, and Lance can barely question what he means before Shiro steps on the gas, jerking the wheel and sending them speeding through the expanse of the empty, but rough terrain of an open field.  

 

Lance yelps, grabbing the roof-handle and bracing his other hand on the seat of the jeep. He screeches again when Shiro jerks the wheel right and then abruptly left, kicking the back end of the jeep out and sending them into a drift. 

 

Straightening them out easily, he accelerates, spinning the wheels out in the mud and then bringing them careening through the dirt. Lance starts to laugh, each bump in the terrain sending him flying into the air, even with his seatbelt on. The wind from the open top whips through his hair. 

 

Shiro transitions them into another drift, spinning into a figure eight that has Lance whooping in exhilaration. 

 

The feeling of the jeep pulling at him as they speed is a lot like training with an aircraft at the Garrison. It’s something he misses when he doesn’t have it, and now he knows it’s the same for Shiro. 

 

There’s something in both of them that craves something _more_ , to be something greater, to find some adventure to throw themselves into. 

 

He looks over at Shiro, at the open grin on his face, the expert way he’s handling himself. He must’ve done this by himself a lot, maybe traumatized Matt once or twice. 

 

Lance doesn’t know how long they’re out there, yelling and laughing. By the time they’re back on the road home, Lance is exhausted but in a good way. The day has darkened into night, and they cruise along with a cool breeze. 

 

“Where’d you learn to do that?” Lance asks. 

 

“Self-taught. Before Keith, there wasn’t much to do around the Garrison. I felt…,” he struggles to find the right words, “I don’t want to say trapped, just... itching to do something.”

 

“Yeah,” Lance agrees. He knows that feeling. That’s why he’s convinced Hunk to sneak out with him so many times. 

 

“Living out in the desert in the middle of nowhere with the same faces and the same schedules and the same expectations… It wears on you, no matter how prepared you think you are,” Shiro explains. “I never imagined I would be at the Garrison for so long.”

 

Lance is silent, listening intently. 

 

“When my parents died, I was at the Garrison.” 

 

He pauses, gazing out into the distance with an expression that reminds Lance why they know he’s the leader of their group. Why everyone on the team would follow him wherever he asked. 

 

“I felt… disconnected. I had to get out.” He looks over at Lance, grinning like he doesn’t approve of his own behavior but knows he’s helpless to it. “So, I stole a cruiser or any other vehicle I could get my hands on. Took it out into the vastness of the desert, recklessly, not even telling anyone where I was going or when--”

 

He laughs, bitterly. 

 

“It became something I _had_ to do,” he says. “And then Keith joined as a cadet and he was a mess. So… I put my own feelings aside so I could help him. I buckled down on my studies, became a teacher’s assistant, worked my way up. Then Samuel asked me to join the team and the rest is history.”

 

Everything seems quiet and muted after he stops talking. 

 

“Do you regret it?” Lance asks. 

 

Shiro furrows his brows, and slows the jeep, pulling over so he can look Lance in the eye. 

 

“There are things I regret not being able to do, and that probably won’t change,” Shiro admits. He holds Lance’s gaze with a naked intensity that makes Lance think the next thing he says will be very important. “But this is my path, and I wouldn’t choose anything else... or anyone else to share it with.”

 

Lance swallows, his heart fluttering in his chest like a bird in his ribcage. Shiro pulls back onto the road, not saying anything else. 

 

They end up at a diner on the side of the highway at Lance’s insistence. Lance stretches his legs and gains his bearings as they walk inside. The waiter brings them to a quiet, isolated corner, laying their menus out flat and leaving them to look over the food options. 

 

“The cheeseburgers here are too good for you to pass up,” Lance insists. 

 

“Shouldn’t I get an authentic Cuban meal for the experience?”

 

“You’ll have plenty of authentic Cuban food to eat on Christmas!” Lance dismisses, waving his hand. “Trust me on this.”

 

“If you say so. My fate is in your hands,” Shiro acquiesces, handing the menu over to Lance so he can stack it at the end of the table. 

 

The waiter comes by again, and Lance orders, keeping a menu “for later”. 

 

“For later?” Shiro questions. 

 

“I thought we had enough trust between us that you wouldn’t question me anymore. What happened to our bond, Shiro?”

 

“Bond machine broke,” he says, casually, and Lance bursts out laughing. 

 

“Wow, Matt is a seriously bad influence on you.”

 

“I’d like to think I’m a good influence on him instead. Though… I wasn’t the one running around naked at a highly populated tourist attraction today,” Shiro says, lifting a brow at Lance as if asking him to say anything else. 

 

He throws his hands up. 

 

“So, did you talk to Keith?” Lance asks, conversationally. The waiter drops off their water. 

 

“Thank you--” he directs at the waiter, turning back to Lance. “Yes, I did. Yes, he was freaking out.” 

 

“Called it.”

 

“But I managed to calm him down, I think. Keith has always been driven by baser emotions-- once you appeal to his more logical nature, he calms down.”

 

“Wow, Pidge is the exact opposite. You have to appeal to her emotional side in order for her to come down from Cloud what _ever_.” 

 

“That’s true,” Shiro says. “What about Hunk?”

 

“Dude just powerhouses through life with full-on anxiety. There’s not much you can say to him that he hasn’t already thought of himself, so he has to work it out himself, too. He’s pretty good at it now.”

 

“He really thinks the world of you,” Shiro mentions. 

 

“Stop! I can’t cry in this diner, I won’t be able to come back here either.”

 

“And you love him, too.”

 

“Of course I do. He’s my best friend.”

 

“I--” Shiro cuts himself off, thinking of the right words to say. “I used to have a best friend, who also happened to be my boyfriend. Adam.”

 

“Really?” Lance asks, curiously. Shiro has never mentioned Adam before. “Did he work at the Garrison?”

 

“He did. It was a long time ago. He, uh-- he died.” Shiro looks down at the table, his throat bobbing as he swallows. 

 

“Oh.” Way to go, Lance. Two for two on the questions about dead people!

 

“It was great being best friends with the same person I loved. We were always in sync…  until we weren’t.” He focuses on his water, stirring it a little with his straw. “We had a falling out before he died.”

 

“That fucking sucks.”

 

“It does ‘fucking suck’. But I know he knew I still loved him.”

 

“Do you… still?” Lance asks, tentatively. Maybe it’s selfish, but there’s a part of him that needs to know. 

 

“In that way that you love all the people who leave you. How do you feel about Allura?” he asks, trying to make a point.

 

“I-- okay, yeah, I get it.”

 

Shiro looks out of the window for a moment, barely able to see outside in the darkness. Glancing back over, he catches Lance’s eyes and holds them. 

 

“She’s missing out on something great,” he says, sounding like he really believes it. “You’re a catch.”

 

Lance feels a surge of emotion welling up in his chest, and he channels it into a broad grin. 

 

“So are you,” he says, winking. “Best boyfriend _I’ve_ ever had.”

 

The waiter comes back to give them their food and they dig in, Shiro agreeing that trusting Lance was a good idea. It’s _that_ good of a burger. 

 

They share a plate of fries, arguing over how to eat ketchup with them. 

 

“You can’t put the ketchup on the fries, you have to dip them, Shiro.”

 

“That’s an entire extra step. The efficiency--”

 

“The efficiency--? _Ay-- no te metas conmigo_! It takes two seconds to dip the fry.”

 

“It takes two seconds to put ketchup on them in the first place, and then zero more seconds the rest of the time.”

 

“We can’t get married. I can’t let our children turn out like this.”

 

“You mean ‘ _right’_?”

 

Lance full-on giggles, nose scrunching. 

 

“You can put ketchup on your half, leave mine alone,” he instructs, interspersed with giggles, guarding his portion.

 

Shiro does as he’s asked, and dinner continues without (much) incidence. 

 

“Is there something you’ve dreamed about doing, but never done before?” Lance asks, pushing his empty plate away from him. 

 

“Where is _this_ coming from?” Shiro asks, doing the same. 

 

“Just thinking about going to Kerberos. What if we get stuck out there? Isn’t there anything you’d regret not doing on Earth?”

 

“When you put it that way…,” Shiro trails off, frowning into the distance. “Maybe relaxing more? I never let myself get away with the easy path. It was always all or nothing.”

 

Lance can see that. 

 

“I wanted to travel a little more. I’ve been to a few places, but the world is massive and there are so many cool places I haven’t been to here on Earth. I’m taking the express to _outer space_.” That’s still pretty mind-boggling. 

 

“Maybe we can do some sort of road trip before we really buckle down,” Shiro suggests. “It’s been a long time since we all relaxed together. It’ll be good bonding time, at the very least.”

 

“Only if I get to pick the road trip music! If we leave it up to Pidge, she’ll put ‘Darude, Sandstorm’ on repeat _just_ to see us kill each other when it becomes too much.”

 

“Matt will play 90s Alternative the whole time,” Shiro says. “What about Hunk?”

 

“Dude _loves_ him some Easy Listening. And Keith? He’d drown us out with emo music. I hope you like Twenty One Pilots.”

 

“That one I can attest to,” Shiro admits. To make his point, he sings, “My name’s Blurryface and I care what you think.”

 

“He played that so much when it came out.”

 

When the waiter clears their food away, Lance orders them two hot chocolates with churros for dessert. 

 

It doesn’t take long to make and the waiter sets them on the table, piled high with whipped cream.

 

“I’m taking a picture of this. Rachel will be so proud,” Lance says, his phone already in hand. He snaps a few shots, trying to get the right angle. 

 

When that’s done, Lance takes a tentative sip, gulping down more when he realizes it’s a comfortable temperature. It’s such a rich flavor of decadent chocolate, and Lance wishes he could duplicate it at the Garrison all the time. There’s nothing quite like it.

 

He looks up to gauge Shiro’s interest in it and sputters when Shiro puts the cup on the table. His heart hiccups in his chest.

 

There’s a white band of whipped cream on Shiro’s lip, a mustache of whipped cream if he’s getting technical.

 

“That’s delicious,” he says, absolutely oblivious. 

 

Lance is so fucking smitten. He’s so goddamn cute. 

 

“You’ve got a little--” Lance references towards his mouth, and Shiro actually blushes, licking his lips. 

 

“No, no, c’mon! Let’s get a picture! We’ll put in on Instagram!” Lance takes another drink of his hot chocolate, purposefully getting whipped cream on his upper lip. Shiro makes room for him, and Lance scooches close, opening his phone camera. 

 

“Ready?”

 

Lance makes a peace sign, and Shiro lifts one brow playfully. He takes a couple, just to be certain he’s gotten something good. 

 

“Cuban Hot Chocolate isn’t for the faint of the heart,” he reads as he types, after he’s applied the necessary filters. “Hashtag I want to bathe in this, hashtag Shiro has had this mustache the whole time, hashtag sugar crash later tho. Whaddya think?”

 

He shows Shiro the picture he chose. 

 

“That’s a good one. Maybe I should make an Instagram.”

 

“Thanks. You’d be _wildly_ popular,” Lance says, switching back to his own seat across from Shiro. He asks earnestly,  “Do you like it?”

 

“Yes. I’ve never had hot chocolate like this before. Though I couldn’t have it all the time.”

 

“It _is_ rich, not gonna lie,” Lance concedes, glancing at his phone. “It’s pretty late.”

 

“We should get going, huh?” Shiro asks, like he doesn’t want to. 

 

Lance nods, trying to smother a yawn. 

 

“It’s been a good day,” Shiro says, a soft smile on his features. 

 

“It really has.”

 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

  


They fall asleep on each other in the living room, watching a bootleg version of Aquaman with the family. Shiro carries him to bed and he doesn’t know anything else until he wakes up in the morning. 

 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

 

“Hey,” Lance says when he picks up his phone. 

 

“Dude, have you eaten pizza yet?” Hunk asks straight away, and Lance laughs. 

 

“I’ve had pizza, authentic Cuban sandwiches, hot chocolate, a _burger_ \--”

 

“They’ve been torturing us at the Garrison,” Hunk says seriously and Lance can hear his family shouting in the background. 

 

“Glad you made it safely,” Lance mentions, tucking the phone between his shoulder in order to pull his pants up and button them up. “What kinda madness are you getting into today?”

 

“Y’know, I just don’t know anymore? My family has decided to keep everything a surprise so I can relax. It’s a really nice gesture, but it’s also giving me anxiety?”

 

“Your moms know how to party,” Lance says, trying to keep the smile from his voice. He tucks his wallet into his back pocket. 

 

“They really do,” Hunk agrees. Lance has visited Hunk’s family quite a few times-- they moved closer to the Garrison to support Hunk, even though they originally hailed from Samoa. Lance has been there a few times as well. It’s almost better than Cuba-- if Samoa had his entire family it would be the best. 

 

“Have you talked to Keith?” Hunk asks abruptly, and Lance rolls his eyes.  

 

“Maybe _that’s_ what’s giving you anxiety. He hasn’t talked to you?”

 

“I got a ‘fine’ text in response to ‘how are you doing, buddy?’ but nothing else,” Hunk frets.

 

“Shiro talked to him. He _is_ fine.”

 

“Oh. Well. You know me-- always worried about my friends,” Hunk says.

 

“Friends. Yep.” Lance pops the ‘p’, raising his eyebrows ambiguously, though Hunk isn’t here to see him. 

 

“Oh no-- what is that voice?”

 

“That’s my ‘I think you’re full of shit’ voice. You should be really familiar with it by now,” Lance says, smiling at Shiro as he walks back into the room. He mouths ‘Hunk’, and Shiro nods, grabbing his own wallet. 

 

“I’m not--” his voice is dangerously high, so he clears his throat, “I’m not full of crap.”

 

“Hunk. I’m offended that you’re lying to me like this. What we had was sacred and now that trust? It’s diminished, and gone into the West and remained Galadriel.”

 

Hunk whines at him. 

 

“Just admit you like Keith. To me,” Lance says. Across the room, Shiro’s eyebrows shoot up. 

 

“I don’t wanna do that,” Hunk mumbles, and Lance can just picture him swirling his finger along whatever surface he’s nearest, nervous and uncomfortable. He does this _because_ he loves Hunk. “Maybe I like him a little bit.”

 

“Just a little bit?” Lance asks, grinning at Shiro, who has stepped closer. 

 

“Okay, okay,” Hunk says, “maybe a lot.”

 

“I’m proud of you, Son,” Lance says, choked up. “Not about it being Keith, because you got your sense of taste from your mother, but about admitting it.”

 

“Thanks, Dad,” Hunk answers. “You know what? It feels good admitting that. I’m _terrible_ at keeping secrets.”

 

“I know, buddy.”

 

“What about you?” Hunk asks. “How’s it going with Shi-”

 

“I’m going to the zoo!” Lance yells, in order to drown him out, just in case Shiro can hear the conversation from where he’s standing. “We all are. Shiro will be there too.”

 

“He’s standing right beside you, isn’t he?” 

 

“Psh. No…” Lance can hear Hunk’s judgment through his silence. “...Yes.”

 

“Hypocrite.”

 

“Hippos are Keith’s favorite animal and that’s why you called me that.”

 

“Mmyep. Have fun at the zoo, Lance. Call me when you get back, okay?”

 

“Alright, yep. Love you.”

 

“Bye,” Hunk says, laughing. 

 

“Bye!”

 

Lance hangs up, ducking his head slightly when he turns to look at Shiro. 

 

“That was Hunk?” Shiro asks. 

 

“It sure was,” Lance says smugly. He’s only okay with Shiro knowing Hunk’s secret crush because he knows Shiro would never betray his confidence or hurt him in any way. Also, maybe they can tag-team and get the two of them together somehow? It could happen!

 

“So, Keith huh?”

 

Lance shrugs. 

 

“I think Keith likes him back,” Shiro says. “He wouldn’t ever say it directly, but I’d like to think I know Keith pretty well. He has a soft spot for Hunk.”

 

“As everyone should,” Lance says. “I think it’s cute. I _will_ stab Keith if he does anything to hurt my precious boy.”

 

“I would say something in defense of Keith, but he has knives hidden in places I don’t want to think about, so it’s safe to say he’s got himself covered.”

 

Lance squeezes his eyes shut, faking a terrible pain in his head. 

 

“Lance?” Shiro asks in alarm, crowding close to him. Lance grabs his arm. 

 

“That visual of Keith I just got… It was too much…”

 

“ _Lance_ ,” Shiro reprimands, shaking him, even though he’s smiling anyway. “Knock it off. Go get your shoes on.”

 

“Sure thing, Daddy,” Lance says as he bounces out of the room, just to see the resulting look on Shiro’s face. 

 

Everyone gets their shit together by the time the zoo has opened and the trip there is fun enough, laughing over Madlibs in the backseat. 

 

It’s another _very_ hot day, the humidity only furthering the oppressive feeling of heat beating down on them from above. Sylvio and Nadia have little sunglasses and safari hats on, looking like a tiny, baby explorers off on an adventure. Lance wheezes at how cute they look. He needs _so_ many pictures. 

 

“Here are the maps,” his mom says as she passes out pamphlets. They’re huddled into a circle at the entrance, taking up more space than they probably should. Lance ducks under Shiro’s arm, throwing it over his shoulder and wrapping his arm around Shiro’s waist. 

 

Shiro looks down at him, smiling sweetly, before looking back up at his mom, who is detailing the trail they’re going to take. Something warm curls into Lance’s gut at how comfortable Shiro seems. 

 

“...and that’s all,” his mom is finishing. “Let’s not anyone get lost like last time, alright? I don’t think my heart can take it.”

 

“Aye aye!” Rachel salutes, tucking her arm around Veronica’s as they walk. 

 

Lisa is barking off orders to Sylvio and Nadia in rapid-fire Spanish, her tone brooking no arguments. Any other time the kids might’ve ignored her orders but she rarely gets this serious and they know better than to disobey her. Luis is there to back her up, though he doesn’t get a word in edgewise. 

 

Everyone seems to be in a great mood despite the heat and general crowd their zoo always attracts. Even the animals are out and about— sometimes the heat can drive them into the shade, but they’re front and center this morning. 

 

Lance moves away from Shiro so he has space, but Shiro surprises him by catching his hand up and intertwining their fingers. They let their arms swing between them. 

 

“I’ve never been to the zoo,” Shiro admits and Lance startles at the information. 

 

“What? _Seriously?!_ Not even, like… for a field trip?” Lance asks and Shiro shakes his head. 

 

“Not even then. I only went to public school for a little bit and then was transferred to private school when I tested above my level.”

 

“Yikes,” Lance says, lost in thought, before that catches up with him. “I mean-- private school isn’t terrible. You had fun… right?”

 

“As much fun as one can at a school for the academically gifted,” Shiro says, humor tinting his voice. He doesn’t seem offended by Lance’s opinion. 

 

“Well, then I’m glad we could bring you here,” Lance says, tightening his hold of Shiro’s hand. “Dude, a camel!” 

 

They stay close together as their family makes a slow trek through one half of the park. When they get to enclosures where birds have nested up high, Luis carries Sylvio on his shoulders, which makes Nadia demand to be put upon Shiro’s shoulders. 

 

(Marco visibly wilts… he’s been trumped by an outsider… he’s a sham now!)

 

Nadia squeals when they enter the enclosure where the birds are allowed to be fed. Shiro guides her through being gentle to the bird and holding her arm out so the bird can land and feed from the small cup of seeds she’s been given. 

 

“He’s so good with kids,” his mom says, scaring him half to death because he was enraptured with the gentle look on Shiro’s face. 

 

“Mom,” he whines, “please not this again.” 

 

“I didn’t say anything,” his mom says, the look on her face saying she’s innocent, but Lance scowls at her anyway. 

 

“He is good with kids,” Lance admits softly, holding his cup up a bird who has been sneaking closer to Lance by the second. He squawks in a way Lance can only describe as happy, pecking seeds carefully into his beak. “He’s good at everything.”

 

“Why do you sound so bitter about that, mijo?” 

 

“I’m not bitter about it, Ma. I just-- I’m not good at a lot of things.”

 

“Nonsense! You’re my talented, smart boy. Any man _or_ woman would be lucky to have you.” 

 

His answering smile isn’t quite as steady as he wants it to be. 

 

“You will believe it one day,” she says, rubbing his back. “Shiro seems to think you’re something special.” Her sly tone of voice directs his eyes back to Shiro, who is watching him from afar. 

 

Lance doesn’t look away as they share a moment, just the two of them. 

 

“I’ve been watching,” his mom says, making him turn back to her. “People don’t look at other people like that unless they think they’re something _really_ special.” 

 

That does little to calm the tumultuous storm warring inside his heart. 

 

The entire zoo circuit takes them all day. At some point, they get ice cream and Lance accidentally drops it into the monkey enclosure. Shiro has to convince Lance not to crawl in because he doesn’t know if monkeys can have ice cream or not. One of them does take off with it and his siblings tease him the rest of the day about it. 

 

It’s a good day— a happy day. 

 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

 

Lance’s spidey senses are tingling, which, given the occupants of this house, never bodes well for him. Or anyone. 

 

His powers of observation have been carefully shaped through years of various objects (including sibling elbows and knees) flying at his face, and then more years of training simulations (where elbows and knees are sometimes involved, but generally frowned upon). 

 

He guesses he should be grateful for the training because he looks up just in time to see Rachel making her way over. Pity Shiro’s built like a brick shithouse because otherwise, he’d be able to shove him into the room quick enough to avoid whatever this is. 

 

Instead, she corners both him and Shiro before they can make it inside the relative safety of his room. Relative because Rachel has no qualms with walking in on anything. The world is hers and everyone else is just in it. 

 

Still, after the long, hot day they’ve just had, it would’ve been nice to just throw himself on the floor and not move for however long his body lets him. He has no idea if Shiro feels the same way— the man is a powerhouse and literally keeps getting up no matter how many times he’s beaten down. Lance admires that about him (always has). 

 

Sometimes, though? He wants to sit on Shiro _just_ to get him to slow down. The man lives and breathes responsibility, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t need (or deserve) to just _be_. He’ll keep shouting that from the rooftops until Shiro actually _gets_ it. 

 

“Alright, Shirogane,” Rachel says. Lance narrows his eyes at her tone of voice, moving in front of Shiro almost subconsciously. 

 

“Yes?” Shiro asks evenly, keeping his voice neutral. Even _he_ can sense the trouble behind those words (and he hasn’t even known Rachel that long, but nobody really does before they start to worry). Also, probably because that’s the same tone of voice Lance gets when he’s about to suggest something particularly dumb. 

 

“So far,” Rachel begins, putting her hands on her hips, “you’ve seen a relatively tame version of our family.”

 

Shiro shares a look with Lance, crossing his arms as he looks back at Rachel, tilting his head for her to continue. Luis and Marco flank her on either side, smirking. They look like a gang from a Broadway musical about to burst into song about illicit activities, complete with snapping. 

 

“It wouldn’t be fair for us to let you be with Lance without at least showing you the other side.” She flips her hair behind her shoulder, a dangerous grin spreading across her face. “We’re taking you out tonight.” 

 

“Uh--” Lance starts in alarm, only to be cut off. 

 

“No questions! We’re going to a house party. Don’t worry, Shiro-- it’ll be a good time.”

 

That’s what Lance is afraid of. Any other time he’d be so down… 

 

“But--”

 

“Well? Go get dressed!” She nudges them towards their room, leaving them as abruptly as she appeared, taking Luis and Marco with her. 

 

“I guess we’re going to a house party,” Shiro says, trying and failing to keep the amused grin from his face. 

 

“Are you... okay with that?” Lance asks. He knows that Shiro used to sneak out and do rebellious things, but is that still a part of him? He’s certainly shown Lance a side of himself that he wouldn’t have at the Garrison, but this is different from a night out driving or helping his streaking boyfriend escape a very public place. Shiro is still the most responsible person that Lance knows. That doesn’t change during a single vacation.

 

“I’d say so if I wasn’t,” Shiro mentions, opening the door and moving around to his suitcase. “Although... I’m not sure if I have any outfits worthy of going out with.”

 

“Those dark wash jeans were nice…” Lance mentions before he can help himself, freezing when Shiro raises a thick brow at him. 

 

“...And for the top?” he prompts, watching Lance carefully. 

 

“Uh… the loose lavender button up?” he says, flushing despite himself. 

 

Shiro makes a noise like a laugh, biting his lip as he looks up from underneath his dark lashes. He looks almost boyish. 

 

“Paying attention to my wardrobe?” he asks, and Lance makes a face. 

 

“No…?” he says, though he doesn’t sound very convincing, even to himself. “Anyway, I have to find something to wear too! Lance McClain can’t arrive at a house party looking like a scrub, Shiro. A scrub is a guy who can’t get no love from me.”

 

“True, don’t go chasing waterfalls and all that. Those black joggers with the yellow and black crop top?” Shiro suggests, and Lance scoffs, mouth falling open into a disbelieving grin at the fact that Shiro is apparently paying _just_ as much attention.  

 

“I’ll consider it,” he says, though he’s already making his way over to his own suitcase to grab the aforementioned clothes. 

 

Shiro escapes to the bathroom to change, and Lance dresses in silence, wondering what his sister has in store for them. Whose place is she bringing them to? It’s not that he doesn’t trust her, it’s that he doesn’t trust them not to get into _some_ kind of trouble because when it’s just the siblings together? It’s _always_ trouble. 

 

He wants Shiro to have a good time, not get _arrested_. Not they’ve ever gotten arrested… officially. 

 

Shaking his head, he looks in his full-length mirror, spinning to check everything out. He slips a black baseball hat on and turns it backward, nodding at the finished look. 

 

Just in time, as Shiro slips out looking like a dream. He’s wet his hair and styled it back, leaving the top few buttons of his shirt undone. His jeans hug his musculature so, _so_ unfairly. How can anyone compete with that?

 

“Eres muy atractivo.” He gives Shiro the ok sign, looking like Pacha from _The Emperor’s New Groove_ when the sun hits that ridge just right. 

 

“Yeah?” Shiro asks, straightening his shirt with a dubious look on his face.    

 

“Trust me.” 

 

A beat. 

 

“You look good.” Shiro’s eyes drag along his frame slowly. Lance flushes hot wherever his gaze roams, clearing his throat before he speaks again.  

 

“Thanks.” His voice absolutely does not crack.

 

(It does.) 

 

“You’re welcome,” he answers, steel eyes intense in the vague lighting from Lance’s lamp. 

 

Lance’s door opens, dispelling the moment, and Rachel taps at the frame uselessly. You don’t knock _as_ you come in, just like you don’t put your blinker on as you’re turning! 

 

“Knock knock! Ready to go-- Woah!” She looks Shiro up and down. “You clean up nicely.”

 

“ _I_ picked his outfit,” Lance says, petulant as ever. He _did_. She says he doesn’t have any fashion sense but this is proof positive. 

 

“Well, you’d know his body best.” Rachel wags her brows, but Lance doesn’t rise to the occasion. He can be level-headed!

 

...Sometimes.  

 

“Stop creeping Shiro out and let’s goooo!” Lance says, excited despite himself. It’s been a long time since he’s been out with his siblings, and dancing at the Garrison is limited to shitty work parties and student military balls (which are grotesquely boring, even with the spiked punch). However, he’s never gone to any of those parties with Shiro as his date— fake or no. 

 

The drive to the party is a harrowing experience, if only because Rachel somehow ended up with the keys. She turns the music wide open, whooping and shouting as she swerves along the deserted stretch of road between the house and civilization. 

 

Lance starts complaining about Marco’s overwhelming, basic ass Axe cologne stinking up the back seat and they throw the top to the Jeep down, the humid night air whipping through their hair. Shiro has his eyes closed, enjoying the feeling. He’s awfully calm for someone who may or may not die on the way to his destination. 

 

Luis, ever calm and ever happy, doesn’t see anything wrong with her driving, but that’s because their style is remarkably similar. It’s a wonder they’ve survived for so long. 

 

It’s like a roller coaster in the back seat. 

 

The house belongs to one of Rachel’s friends and Lance plasters his face against the Jeep window, mouth open as he looks at it. 

 

“This house is huge, Rachel!”

 

The mansion, though large, is completely packed full of people, a reggaeton beat thrumming from inside. It sends a burst of adrenaline surging through Lance’s veins, and he smiles at Shiro, a spring in his step.

 

Rachel makes a beeline for her friend when they get inside, grabbing her up as they gush at each other. 

 

Lance ushers Shiro inside, keeping close and trying to gauge whether Shiro is comfortable or not. He doesn’t _seem_ uncomfortable, but Shiro rarely does. In a complete parallel to Lance, Shiro doesn’t wear his heart on his face. He’s hard to read sometimes, though Lance likes to think he’s gotten even better at gauging what’s going on in his mind.  

 

“Shots!” Rachel shouts, carrying five tiny, plastic shot glasses between her fingers. They each take one from her, and her friend bounces up behind her with her own shot. 

 

“Lance!” she says, and Lance grins at her, leaning in for a kiss on the cheek. 

 

“Natasha,” he greets, putting a hand on the small of Shiro’s back as he turns to him. 

 

“This is Shiro, my boyfriend,” he introduces. Natasha blinks up at Shiro, completely caught off guard. She starts speaking to Rachel in rapid-fire Spanish and for the millionth time, Lance is grateful Shiro doesn’t know the language. 

 

“Hey!” he says and she has the decency to flush. 

 

“Sorry-- it’s just--” She cuts herself off, glancing at Shiro. 

 

From the look on his face, Shiro absolutely knows what they’re talking about. Lance runs his hand down Shiro’s forearm, intertwining their fingers and squeezing briefly. 

 

Shiro smiles at him, squeezing back. 

 

“Cheers to a good night, hermanos,” Marco says, and they all clink their glasses together. Lance downs his shot, making a noise not unlike a goose honk after he swallows it. People can say whatever they want about him (he sees Rachel laughing at him), but he’s here for a good time and would much rather be sipping on something fruity and sweet. Never let it be said that fruity drinks don’t pack a punch. 

 

Shiro doesn’t even flinch at the burn of the alcohol as it slides down his throat. Luis makes a sturgeon face in appreciation, raising his brows. 

 

Rachel makes a whooping noise, dancing a little in excitement. “I’ll go get us some more! Go find us a place to loiter!”

 

Their hands still clasped, Lance navigates them through groups of strangers, calling out a greeting or two towards people who recognize him. There are red solo cups and shot cups everywhere and the deeper they move into the house, the darker it gets. Strobe lights cut paths of light everywhere, illuminating the people passing by who are splattered with neon paint. 

 

There’s an abandoned couch right by a row of floor-to-ceiling windows that lead out to a beautiful veranda and pool area. Lance pulls Shiro to sit with him, everyone following suit. Rachel passes out more shots. 

 

From there?

 

Well... there are more shots, of course. 

 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

 

Lance’s voice is hoarse. 

 

They’d gone from joking around on the couch (with shots) to singing loudly on the couch (with shots), to taking drunk selfies and snaps on the couch (with, you guessed it, shots). Eventually, a song that was too good for Lance to pass up got them all up into the crowd for dancing and they’ve been here ever since. 

 

All he knows is that he feels _really_ good— like his limbs are so… wavy? And Shiro, wow— he’s _so_ sexy. 

 

He’s a hard line of heat all along Lance’s back, his hands gripping at Lance’s hips, pulling him closer. They’re moving to a sensual beat, grinding and gyrating in tandem. The arousal in his gut is amber honey, syrupy sweet, but slow. 

 

The alcohol has dulled the edges of his vision, made the pace of the room around him feel sedate and muted. Lance can only focus on the impression of Shiro against him, how his fingers feel like brands pressing into exposed flesh, how he’s breathing, hot and heavy, in Lance’s ear. 

 

Lance is half-stocked and desperate to be so much closer, in a far-off way. 

 

There’s some urgent reason tickling at the edges of his mind about why he _shouldn’t_ ache with this sort of want and he should say something, right? He should put an end to this now before he starts begging because that’s what that little voice is saying to do. 

 

He’s about to turn around and make like an Usher song, but someone stumbles into him, effectively tearing him away from Shiro’s arms. 

 

Lance blinks as he tries to regain his balance, his world going topsy-turvy because errbody in the club gettin’ tipsy, including him and his senses are all out of sorts. In fact, he’s probably a bit past tipsy.

 

Someone reaches out to steady him, but when he goes to pull away, an arm snakes around his waist, effectively trapping him against an unfamiliar body. 

 

“Hey baby,” a low voice murmurs into his ear. Adrenaline rushes through him, sobering him up in an instant as his heart starts to trip over itself. His eyes flash all over the dance floor, but there are so many people and the lights are making it hard to discern who is who. He can’t see Shiro. 

 

“Hey asshole--” Lance says, shoving the guy’s arm away from him, but the man catches him by the wrist, sneering as Lance fails to remove his hand.

 

“Let go!” Lance says, pulling at his arm in a grip that’s becoming bruising. Instead, he’s pulled closer, the putrid smell of alcohol fanning over his face as the stranger smiles up close.

 

“I know you want it. I saw you all over that other guy. He’s _way_ out of your league,” the guy murmurs, and Lance is about to lose his shit. He is seconds away from pulling his fist back, but someone else’s fist shoots out first. 

 

Shiro’s punch connects to the guy’s jaw and he doesn’t even stand a chance. 

 

Shiro gathers Lance’s face in his hands. 

 

“Are you okay--”

 

Apparently, creepy stranger’s friends are up for defending his shit-ass behavior, because they spring into action, twisting Shiro around and away. Lance narrowly dodges a punch to his nose, tackling his opponent to the ground on instinct. Someone pulls him off, holding him in place as he struggles, all sharp elbows and flailing legs. 

 

The guy he tackled gets up and socks him in the face, but suddenly Luis is on him and they go down. 

 

Lance finally catches the guy behind him with an elbow to the face, adrenaline surging through him. He vaguely registers throwing more punches, but his instincts are taking over and his training is falling into place. 

 

He almost hits Shiro but a well-maneuvered dodge has him grasping Lance’s wrist. Lance double-takes, sighing in relief when Shiro holds his hands up in surrender. 

 

“Sorry!” he yells over the music. Most people around them have gone back to dancing. 

 

“You okay, bro?” Marco asks, Luis turning up beside him. “I know where those fuckers live--”

 

“Chill--” Luis orders, and Marco rolls his eyes, grumbling. 

 

“You’re bleeding,” Shiro says as he inspects Lance’s face, turning it back and forth with a light grip on his chin. “You sure know how to get into trouble.”

 

It’s not said to hurt him, the fond note to Shiro’s voice indicating so. Lance bites his lip, wincing when the sharp taste of iron sits on his tongue. 

 

“You’re pretty great at getting me out of it,” Lance answers. “Are _you_ okay?” 

 

“I actually feel good,” Shiro says. 

 

“You should!” Luis says. “I’m impressed by how well you fight. Lance never explains the training y’all go through, but what are y’all expecting up there in space? The Predator?” 

 

“I sure hope not,” Lance mentions, wiping at his nose. His fingers come back wet. Still bleeding then. 

 

“Come on, let’s find you some first aid.”

 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

  


"That's one way to sober up," Shiro says as he walks in, standing in front of Lance who is slouching as he sits on the counter, holding an ice pack to his face. "Let me see."

 

Shiro sucks in a noise when he lets the ice pack down. Well, it _does_ hurt, so it probably looks pretty terrible. Shiro keeps his prodding gentle, wincing in sympathy when Lance grimaces at his touch. 

 

"You okay?" Shiro asks, making to grab for an alcohol swab packet. Lance barely nods, swallowing around the lump in his throat as he thinks about what might’ve happened had no one else been around. The reality of it has caught up with him as the adrenaline has faded. He watches Shiro's hands as they work to open the packet, blinking slowly. 

 

"You, uh," Shiro begins, smiling as he unfolds the swab, "you looked pretty cool out there."

 

Lance snorts, groaning when it hurts his injured nose.

 

"You surprised me," he says and Shiro flashes his steely gaze towards Lance, dabbing softly at Lance's forehead wound. 

 

His lips are parted as he focuses, brows furrowed. 

 

"Thanks for saving me, " Lance says, holding still as Shiro swipes a swab under his nose.

 

"You would've done the same for me. Or for anyone else," Shiro says, ripping another packet open. He traces a path of blood down Lances chin and the column of his throat. Lance touches his hand and Shiro pauses, looking at him properly. 

 

"But not everyone would've done it for me," Lance says and Shiro stares at him. He sets the swab in his pile of trash, turning back and placing both hands on Lance's thighs. 

 

"I'm not everyone. And you deserve to have people watching out for you. I know you do it for everyone else. We notice, Lance. Pidge mentioned how often you try to get Iverson off her back."

 

Lance blushes, fighting the urge to wiggle under the scrutiny. He feels embarrassed and pleased all at once. 

 

“You fought as dirty as Keith out there,” Shiro mentions, trying to keep the smile from his lips. “Did you _bite_ someone?”

 

“They should’ve kept their hands to themselves if they didn’t want my teeth anywhere near them. Serves them right,” Lance answers. Shiro loses his fight with a grin, laughing instead as he opens a bandaid. 

 

“Even if he was drunk he shouldn’t have done that,” he says, and Lance shivers. “Sorry I didn’t get there sooner.”

 

“I’ve seen him around before,” Lance mentions. “Before I left for the Garrison. Dude has always been hella creepy. Better me than someone else.”

 

Shiro gives him a sharp look of contention but doesn’t say anything as he covers a scratch on Lance’s forehead with the bandaid. 

 

“At least I know you won’t back down from a fight with The Predator, should it come to that,” Shiro says eventually. 

 

“Stop making me laugh,” Lance whines. “It hurts meee.”

 

“Payback for stealing my pizza,” Shiro says. 

 

“Ugh, are we still on that? To move forward in life, you gotta let the past go.”

 

“There’s no going back where pizza is involved and I think anyone at the Garrison would agree with me.” Shiro gathers his mess and throws it into the trash, sliding Lance bodily out of the way so he can wash his hands. He sets the bag of ice back into Lance’s hand, guiding it back up to his black eye. 

 

It’s so unfair to like someone _so_ much, Lance thinks, especially when they don’t like you back like that. He never thought anything could hurt more than losing Allura and yet… 

 

“I think your siblings are spending the night, but do you want to go back home?” 

 

“Probably for the best-- I can call Lisa to come get us?”

 

“Sure,” Shiro agrees, helping Lance off the counter. 

 

When he tucks his phone back into his pocket, Lisa agreeing to come get them, a relatively somber song is filtering through the bathroom door, muffled and distant. 

 

It sounds dreamy from here, echoing through the sparkling clean, minimalist bathroom. Lance looks up at Shiro.

 

“I wasn’t finished dancing earlier,” Shiro says, sounding almost too loud in the quiet space. Lance leans against the door with a grin, pushing off of it when Shiro offers him a hand. 

 

It’s not anything like it was before— nothing desperate about it— but Lance still feels torn apart about how it feels to just hold Shiro in the guise of dancing. He supposes Shiro has done it to make him feel more comfortable being here, having to wait to leave. 

 

They sway in small circles, Lance closing his eyes as he rests his head on Shiro’s shoulder. He feels worn out in a way that has nothing to do with his physical body. 

 

Shiro sets his chin on Lance’s temple, taking care to be gentle of his injuries. 

 

Sighing through his nose, Lance lets it go. 

 

He’ll have time to worry about all this tomorrow. For now, he’ll take the comfort and the care and pretend it’s not killing him.

 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

  


“You have one mission,” Shiro says, standing tall and serious at the front of the entrance to the farmer’s market. “Everything you’ve done up to this point has prepared you for this day. Get everything on this list, and bring it back. Anything else is a distraction. Are you ready?”

 

“Sir, yes, sir!” Nadia and Sylvio hoot, holding a hand up to their forehead in a salute. 

 

“Godspeed!” Shiro dismisses them, and they go off to terrorize everyone like they always do. They’re cute about it, so Lance doesn’t think people mind too much, and he always reigns them in when they get to be too much. 

 

Shiro has the actual list. They’ve given Nadia and Sylvio a fake list with Christmas treats and other inane, cheap items on it for their “mission”. Shiro’s idea. Lance resolutely does _not_ think of the gnomes.  

 

His mother had given them the express instructions of not coming back home until everything on the list is found, and Lance knows it’s not something to play around with. Christmas supper is _not_ something to take lightly. 

 

“Ready?” Lance asks, and Shiro nods, squinting at his mother’s chicken scratch. 

 

“Plantains,” he reads, though it sounds more like a question than a certainty. It’s fine— not even _he_ can read his mother’s chicken scratch. It’s an indecipherable code that only she knows the secrets of. 

 

“That’s close by,” he says, pushing their cart (which they purchased from Amazon not too long ago) down the slightly mottled concrete path. He’s been coming here since he was a little boy, and most of the vendors are still the same people, neighbors, and friends he’s come to love. They watch out for him, _and_ they watch out for Sylvio and Nadia. It’s why Lance feels comfortable enough letting them run around by themselves.

 

He doesn’t get far before someone recognizes him. 

 

“Is that Lance?” someone asks in Spanish. “Come here!”

 

“Mr. Rafael!” Lance answers, using his mother tongue as well. He steps close enough to the stall for a conversation, and Shiro hovers politely. “It is me.”

 

“You look more handsome every time you come to visit. How is that fair to the rest of the community?” 

 

A rosy blush reaches Lance’s cheeks, and he pulls his shoulders up as he ducks his head. 

 

“Mr. Rafael, everyone knows you are the most handsome of all of us.”

 

“Always a flatterer! You make an old man feel pride!” Rafael laughs, lifting his brows at Shiro. 

 

“And who might you be?” he asks, switching to heavily accented English. 

 

“Takashi Shirogane,” Shiro replies, holding his hand out for a shake. “Lance’s boyfriend, sir.”

 

“Sir!” Rafael exclaims, looking at Lance in surprise even as he takes Shiro’s hand. “I could get used to that.”

 

“Don’t let it make your head big, Mr. Rafael. Mamá says it’ll blow up like a balloon with too much air. Besides, he’s like that with everyone.”

 

Rafael clutches his chest. 

 

“First you compliment me, and then you _lance_ me through the heart. You were named so well.”

 

“Mamá’s words, not mine!”

 

“Ah well-- she would know best,” Rafael says, sighing. “But enough about that. I know you want to buy some vegetables from me. I’m the best stall there is.”

 

“Also the most expensive!” Lance counters, putting his hands on his hips. He’s known Rafael as long as they’ve been coming to the farmer’s market. He’s about 70, if Lance remembers correctly, and inherited his farm from his parents in his 40s.  

 

“How are you treating our Lance?” Rafael asks Shiro. 

 

“I probably spoil him, if I’m being honest,” Shiro says, smirking over at Lance when he sputters indignantly. 

 

“I’m not spoiled!”

 

“You are spoiled by everyone,” Rafael chides. “Your innocent face lets you get away with too much. Even as a child, he took all my candy.”

 

“You offered it!” Lance defends himself.

 

“You took it,” Rafael counters, laughing heartily as Lance crosses his arms and squints at him. “That’s the same look he had then too. I wish you much strength, Mr. Shirogane.”

 

“He’ll need it,” Lance mutters. “You got plantains?” 

 

“Ah! I’ve offended you. My apologies, Lance. I do have plantains. I will give you a Christmas discount.”

 

“Oh. Really?”

 

“Yes. Your Mamá is a loyal customer. My gift to your family.”

 

“Thanks, Mr. Rafael,” Lance says, grinning at him. He picks out the amount his mother wrote on the list, and Mr. Rafael bags it for him, taking his money gratefully. 

 

“Nice to meet you again, Mr. Shirogane,” Rafael says. “Take care, Lance. Merry Christmas.”

 

“Merry Christmas,” they both reply. 

 

“He was nice,” Shiro says, when they’re out of earshot.

 

Lance shoots him a warning glance. 

 

“Spoiled!” he says, and Shiro laughs, loud and unrestrained. 

 

“Next item iiis-- black bears? I’m so sorry, I can’t read this.” Shiro looks embarrassed, pointing the word out to Lance on the paper. 

 

“Black beans?” Lance hazards, although _seriously_ , he’s absolutely guessing. 

 

“Well, that definitely makes more sense.”

 

“We can get black beans _and_ rice from Sal’s-- omg, Maria is doing samples.” Lance interrupts himself, migrating towards another stall. “Shiro, you gotta try this.”

 

“What is it?” he asks, sniffing at the cup Lance just shoved under his nose. 

 

“Créme de Vie-- it’s like… eggnog, but better?”

 

“After the other night’s diner experience, I’ve learned not to doubt you,” Shiro says, drinking it like a shot. 

 

“What do you think?” 

 

“A lot sweeter than I expected, but good. Really good.”

 

“Why do they have to put samples out? They always do this. I always get distracted,” Lance pouts. He grabs Shiro by the shoulders. “Shiro. You have to keep me on track.”

 

“I think I can do that.”

 

Which is why, five minutes later, they’re smelling homemade candles. 

 

“Dang it!” Lance exclaims, shoving the pumpkin spice candle back into its spot. “Shiro!”

 

“Oh,” Shiro says, capping his own candle. “Sorry.”

 

“Alright, next item…”

 

This goes on for 30 more minutes, before Sylvio and Nadia return with their list completed. 

 

“We’re only halfway done,” Shiro whispers, as the kids look up at them expectantly.  

 

“Maybe we can get the kids to do our work for us?” Lance suggests.

 

“That’s exploitative. Irresponsible even,” Shiro reprimands, looking down at Lance. 

 

“...maybe we can get the kids to do our work for us.”

 

Shiro makes a face, though he doesn’t say no. 

 

“Alright, cadets!” 

 

Sylvio and Nadia stand upright immediately. 

 

Huh. Neat trick. 

 

“New intel for the mission. I have it on good authority that this list needs to be finished by today. Are you up for it?” 

 

“Sir, yes, sir!” they yell in unison, startling Mrs. Diaz who immediately gives them the stank eye. But, to be fair, she’s always giving everyone the stank eye. 

 

They set off with the list with so much zeal and enthusiasm, Shiro and Lance have no time to dawdle. These kids know this market like the back of their tiny, baby, tiny hands. They’re so smart. Lance is so proud. 

 

“This is… remarkably efficient,” Shiro admits. “They’re having a good time.”

 

“They enjoy being helpful. We were like that as kids, too. Sometimes the extra work gives you an extra piece of flan or something.”

 

“It helps that we don’t have much time to get distracted,” Shiro points out, grinning at him. 

 

“I just saw a piece of Cuban Rum Cake and I’m slowly dying because I didn’t taste it. My ancestors are cursing my name.”

 

“How could you, Lance?” Shiro asks, playing along. 

 

“That’s exactly what they sound like.”

 

Shiro bumps him on the shoulder, and Lance suddenly realizes how close they’ve been walking together this entire time. Their pace is matched, arms grazing one another’s every other minute. It warms Lance up from the inside-out. 

 

They come across a stall for flowers, and Shiro stops them, scanning them thoughtfully. 

 

“What sort of flowers does your mother prefer?” he asks, when Sylvio and Nadia start to get antsy. 

 

“Sunflowers,” Lance answers, quirking a perfectly arched brow at Shiro. “Why?”

 

“Excuse me,” Shiro says to the vendor, who fortunately speaks English. “Could I get an arrangement with sunflowers as the focal point?” 

 

Lance’s jaw drops. 

 

“I thought she might like a centerpiece for the table,” Shiro says to Lance, as the vendor prepares his order. “Is… that okay?”

 

“Shiro…” Lance whispers, unable to come up with a way to describe how unbelievably floored he is. He wants to climb Shiro like a tree. Instead, he pulls on Shiro’s arm and places a sweet kiss against his cheek. “Thank you.”

 

Shiro’s eyes crinkle as he smiles. 

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

They don’t spend too much more time in the market, but it still feels like they’ve been there for hours by the time they corral Sylvio and Nadia into the car. 

 

“I’m really tired,” Lance whines, as he buckles his seatbelt. “Is this what being an adult feels like?”

 

“Hm, I wouldn’t know, personally.”

 

“Oh my God, Shiro.” Lance rolls his eyes, accepting the bouquet of flowers so he can hold them on the drive home. 

 

It’s a comfortable ride, if not a bit long, and Sylvio and Nadia nod off in the backseat. Afternoon sun streams through the open windows, and Lance swims his hand through the wind, having put the flowers on the armrest console a while back. 

 

He looks over to Shiro, who is smiling as he drives, eyes forward. 

 

Some part of Lances wishes the road would never end— that they could be suspended in this moment forever. Would it be okay for time to stop, for the pavement to stretch on endlessly, just so Lance could watch this content version of Shiro enjoy himself always?

 

Shiro glances over at him, winking when he catches him staring. 

 

Lance smiles back, turning back to the scenery passing by. 

 

It was lovely while it lasted, anyway.

 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

 

“Lance, baby, just in time!” his mother exclaims, as soon as they’re all in the door. She’s fluttering around the house, keys in hand, and Veronica, Lisa, and Rachel are all in the same state. 

 

“Hello, Shiro,” his mom says, patting his face softly as she passes him. Sylvio barrels around her, no doubt trying to find his grandpa in order to show him the goodies he got at the farmer’s market.

 

“Mom,” Lance huffs, pointing back at Shiro, hefting a sleeping Nadia up on his hip. His mom lifts her brows but turns back to look anyway. 

 

“Oh!” his mom exclaims, stepping towards Shiro. “Are those for me?”

 

Shiro is holding her bouquet of flowers, a beautiful mix of oranges, yellows, and pinks, interspersed with green. The vendor did a wonderful job, and it shows with the look on his mother’s face. 

 

“Shiro picked them out for you,” Lance emphasizes, and his mom puts a hand to her chest, accepting them. She puts her nose to them, inhaling the fresh, sweet scent and closing her eyes for a moment. When she opens them, she is close to tears. 

 

“Thank you,” she says, meaning it. She looks at Lance pointedly. “You have to keep him.”

 

Shiro laughs, but Lance wants to say, “I’m _trying_!!”

 

“Marco, honey,” his mom says, as Marco walks in. “Please find a vase for these and put them on the table. Aren’t they gorgeous?”

 

“Yeah,” Marco answers, even though Lance can tell he doesn’t really care about them in the slightest. 

 

“Shiro, follow Marco, dear. The boys are going to give you a tour of the farm, maybe put you to work a little.” She winks at him. “Lance, you’re coming with us girls.”

 

“Aw, really? I wanted Shiro to meet Kaltenecker!”

 

Lisa swoops in, taking Nadia from his arms. 

 

“We’ll show Shiro your cow, Lance,” Luis says, patting Shiro on the back. “Nice touch with the flowers. Ready for some farm work?”

 

Shiro rolls up his sleeves in response. “Where do I start?”

 

That’s his mans. 

 

Before Lance can ask where they’re going, he’s being ushered out the door, only just calling out to Luis about the groceries in the car before it’s shutting on him. Lisa is out last, apologizing about putting Nadia to bed for a nap. 

 

They’re on the road when Lance finally catches his breath. 

 

“So… where are we going?” he asks, and Veronica laughs at him. 

 

“To get manis and pedis! An early Christmas gift from Mom.” 

 

“We said we were doing last minute Christmas shopping,” Lisa says from the passenger seat. “But really we want to talk more about you and Shiro.” 

 

Dread settles in the pit of Lance’s stomach. He definitely doesn’t want to do that. Don’t get him wrong, he _loves_ a good mani/pedi, but being grilled about his fake boyfriend? Not his first choice of a fun afternoon.

 

The salon they eventually get to is one Lance has been to before— too many times, probably. They’re greeted by name, and all sat together in a line. 

 

His nail tech, Belita, is quiet but always lovely to interact with. She always laughs shyly when his family ends up saying something funny (or stupid). 

 

“What do we think?” His mom asks, rifling through the box of nail colors and patterns to choose from. 

 

“Do the gold, Mamá,” Rachel says. “It’s super classy.”

 

“Veronica?”

 

“What she said.”

 

“Why do you always ask Veronica for her opinion right after I give you mine?” Rachel asks petulantly. 

 

“Ay, honey, I just want the opinions of all my babies. Here, your turn. I’ll go with the gold,” Mom placates her, holding the gold up to her nail tech. 

 

Lance refuses the box when it gets to him, going with a simple clear coat. 

 

“So,” his mom says, and he feels a chill go down his spine, “are you and Shiro planning on marriage?”

 

There it is. 

 

“Mom,” Lance says, voice strained. He does _not_ want to do this.

 

“It’s a legitimate question. I think we all agree that he’s perfect for you,” Lance’s mom directs at the other girls, who take turns nodding. 

 

“He _is_ quite a catch, Lance,” Lisa says, and Lance looks to Belita for a little support. She gives him an apologetic smile, shrugging. She’s right. This is not her fight. 

 

“His credentials and work speak for itself,” Veronica says, and Lance's mouth drops open as he stares at her. 

 

“Did you _vet_ Shiro?” he asks in disbelief. 

 

“I have the right to,” Veronica dismisses, but no. 

 

“You really don’t! I don’t look up everyone _you’re_ dating behind _your_ back!” It feels like a weird breach of privacy, and also freaks him out a little, because what if they know something about Shiro he doesn’t? How can he explain that? “I can’t believe it! My own family!”

 

“You would vet hers if she dated.” Rachel snorts at her own commentary, and Veronica slaps her on the arm. 

 

“I just… haven’t found the right person,” she says, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear and pushing her glasses back up her nose as she recovers. It’s more vulnerable than Lance has seen her in awhile.  

 

“Oh, sweet girl,” their mom coos, though she can’t reach out to her because her hands are preoccupied. “But Lance, really, do you _want_ to marry Shiro?”

 

Dear God in heaven. Does he want to _marry_ Shiro? They’re not even in a real relationship!

 

Still, he thinks about waking up together every morning, and can’t help the thrill that swoops low into his belly. Picturing the two of them making breakfast, dancing and singing around the kitchen, makes his blood sing through his veins. He can see them having late dinners and lounging around together, and he thinks about what Shiro’s sort of unwavering support would be like. He thinks about making Shiro smile as much as he can. 

 

“I don’t know,” he answers though his traitorous heart is screaming _liarliarliar_. Belita squeezes his hand slightly, her form of support for him. 

 

“Lisa won’t give me any more grandchildren,” Mamá faux sniffles, and everyone makes a noise at once. 

 

“Oh here we go.”

 

“Mamá, please, Sylvio and Nadia are a handful already. Not to mention Luis himself.”

 

“That doesn’t mean _I’m_ giving you any.”

 

“I’m never having kids. They’re little soul-sucking hellions. No offense, Lisa.”

 

“Oh, none taken!”

 

“I’m getting too old to interact with grandchildren. Soon I’ll be replacing your abuela!” His mom’s nail tech, an older woman, nods sympathetically to his mother’s plight. 

 

“Right now, Mom, I’m just enjoying what time I have with Shiro. I was too serious with Allura, and look where it got me.” 

 

_Damn it_ , he’s way too good at lying to his mom. Beelzebub has a devil put aside for him for sure. He’s sweating.

 

“Mom,” Veronica pleads. 

 

“Fine! Fine. I’ll just have to spoil Sylvio and Nadia until I can’t anymore.” 

 

They’re all quiet for a moment, the buzz of a nail file the only thing making any sound. 

 

“So, Lance,” Rachel says, way too sly for it to be anything good. “How’s the sex?”

 

“ _Rachel_.”

 

“Oh my God, Rachel, really?”

 

“He’s hot, though. Is he not hot? Lisa, back me up.”

 

“He _is_ , but I think Lance has stopped breathing.”

 

“Asking questions like that! Rachel. I raised you better!”

 

“But did you though?”

 

“Apparently not.”

 

“Don’t gang up on me! I know you’re all curious. Shiro is a _big_ man.”

 

“Please stop talking about my boyfriend like that,” Lance wheezes, covering his eyes with his free hand. 

 

“Alright, alright,” Rachel agrees. “But I’m still gonna think about it.”

 

“Do whatever you want, just don’t involve me! Or Mom.”

 

“Please,” his mom begs, widening her eyes at her nail technician for some support. Her nail tech widens her eyes back, pursing her lips. 

 

“Like I said before Rachel yet again derailed the conversation, I think Shiro is very sweet. He’s a good match for you, too. He makes you smile like nothing I’ve ever seen. It’s _so_ cute,” Veronica says, and Lisa nods. 

 

“ _Oh_ yeah. That dreamy look Lance has on his face when he’s watching Shiro? Agh, I remember those days all too well.” Lisa’s nail tech makes her switch to her other hand. “Sometimes I look at Luis and still feel my heartbeat skip.”

 

“Aw, my darling, my son is so lucky,” Mom says in Spanish. 

 

“I’m lucky to have _him_ ,” Lisa responds. “He gave me my precious children. He gave me a family.”

 

Lance looks down at his hands, watching Belita as she paints a clear coat over his nails. He _does_ feel that way about Shiro. His heart just won’t calm down. His soul is just _happier_ when he can be near him. He’s felt this way before, but it’s just… more intense and _so_ different. He desires Shiro in ways he just can’t explain. Before he’d been ignoring it, but this trip has just… punched him in the gut.

 

With Allura, it had been… almost elementary in comparison. He really loved her, but in such an innocent way. Oh, he still had desire for her. She was beautiful, attractive, almost ethereal sometimes. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe he never felt quite on her level and that translated all wrong in the way he showed her love. 

 

With Shiro, it’s almost like a fire. He feels hot all over just thinking about him. The way he walks, or moves, or the timbre of his voice-- it’s enough to send his head rushing. And it’s not just physical attraction. 

 

He feels _sappy_ about Shiro. 

 

Shaking his head to clear it, he holds up his hands at Belita’s prompting. His nails look perfect, as usual. 

 

“Remember Lance, you get to wrap presents tonight,” Lisa reminds him. Damn. He thought she’d forget about that.

 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

 

Everyone’s still chatty by the time they roll up to the house. The sun’s not quite down yet, so Lance can see his brothers and Shiro in the distance, framed by fiery reds and oranges. He breaks away from the group to meet with them, jogging over. 

 

“How is it you always get out of the hard work?” Luis asks, when Lance makes it over. He’s not really paying attention to Luis, though. He’s watching Shiro, who’s somehow been roped into wearing chaps over his jeans, a flannel shirt rolled up to his elbows and slightly unbuttoned at the top as he shovels mud into a wheelbarrow. 

 

He looks like a sexy cowboy from the front of a romance novel, dirt streaked across his cheek and beads of sweet gathered along his forehead.

 

Can’t nobody tell him nothin’. 

 

“Because Mom actually loves me,” Lance answers, and Marco has to stop shoveling in order to hide his laughter. 

 

Luis has some choice words for him, chucking his shovel to the side and picking up a big lump of wet mud. Lance screeches, automatically ducking behind Marco, who catches the brunt of the mud pie in shock. 

 

Marco wipes off his face, jaw working as he bends down to pick up his own piece of mud. Luis holds up his hands. 

 

“Now, now… that was meant for that evil thing behind you…” Luis says, glaring at Lance, who, in a show of maturity, sticks his tongue out at him. 

 

“Uh,” Shiro says, realizing nobody else is working and the hostility in the air has ratcheted up real quick. 

 

“It was meant for Lance, but _whomst_ did it hit, Luis?” Marco asks, his accent thick in his irritation. Luis starts backing away slowly, eyes trained on Marco’s hands. 

 

It’s the perfect opportunity. 

 

Luis doesn’t know what hits him. Except, he totally does. It’s mud. From Lance. 

 

Marco takes the distraction for what it is and pelts Luis as well. 

 

“ _Al_ right!” Luis yells, grabbing his shovel. He digs into the ground almost violently, a clumpy mess of mud in his shovel, and he slings it all willy-nilly, catching Shiro across his whole front. “Oh shit-- sorry, Shiro!”

 

Shiro blinks, clumps of dirt all over his face and clothes. His eye ticks slightly. Lance knows when that one eye blinks… that can only mean one thing. 

 

There’s no other warning for it, but Lance gets caught in it anyways. Shiro is throwing mud quickly and efficiently, like this is a snowball fight and he’s in it to win it. 

 

Luis jumps behind the wheelbarrow with a string of expletives flowing from his mouth, using the stores of mud they just shoveled as ammunition. It doesn’t matter that they’ll have to do it all over again tomorrow. 

 

Lance is using Marco as a human shield, slinging mud however he can. He dodges left and right, making use of days of training, muscle memory taking over. Except he gets a little too into it and rolls out into the open, grabbing for a gun that _isn’t_ attached to his back like it usually is. 

 

“Uh...” 

 

A tentative grasp towards peace in Lance’s uncertain grin is ignored completely. 

 

It’s utter chaos. All three of them use Lance as a target and he falls over laughing, arms over his face until the barrage of mud stops.  

 

“Truce!” Shiro yells, throwing his last lump of mud in Luis’ face, who drops to his ass with an ‘oof’. Shiro jogs over, reaching his hand out to Lance, who slumps into the sludge behind him. “You okay?”

 

“These hoes ain’t loyal…” Lance garbles, lowly and out of pitch. Shiro drops down beside him, grabbing his face with both hands. 

 

“We’re losing him, we’re losing him-- _he’s dying!_ ” 

 

“Tell my mom… to play ‘Party Up (Up In Here)’ at my funeral…” Lance says, his voice hoarse. He drops his head back into the dirt, dead. 

 

“Noooooooooo!” Shiro yells to the sky, shaking his fist. Lance definitely isn’t peeking through a squinted eye at him. He’s dead, so he can’t. 

 

“You gotta kiss ‘em!” Nadia yells, and Shiro turns to see her at the back porch with Lisa. Her hair is a mess, meaning nobody woke her from her nap until just now. She’s gonna be a mess to deal with later. “Break the spell, Shiro!” 

 

Shiro turns back, Lance quickly closing his eye. Shiro’s laughter shifts like shades of deepening blue above him, and he sees the impression of his shadow behind his eyelids, feels the warmth of him and anticipates the press of his lips just before it happens. 

 

Even though they’ve kissed before that does nothing to stop the deep unfurling bloom in his gut, his toes curling in his shoes. It still burns Lance from the inside out, makes him shudder right there in the mud, his hands itching to reach out and touch.

 

Shiro lingers there when their lips part, the warmth of his breath huffing against Lance’s skin. Lance opens his eyes with a flutter, wondering if Shiro can see just what he does to him in the darkness of his pupils and intensity of his gaze. Shiro’s eyes have him pinned where he is, chest heaving like he’s been running for miles. 

 

Nadia jumps up and down on the porch, squealing. 

 

“He’s alive!! True love’s kiss!!” 

 

Lance lifts his head to see Lisa nodding at everything Nadia babbles afterwards, smiling helplessly at her excitement. 

 

“That was super gross,” Marco says, only to get pelted one more time in the head by Luis. 

 

They’re still wiping mud off when Lance turns to Shiro. 

 

“Did you meet Kaltenecker?” he asks, managing to keep the shake from his limbs and his voice. Shiro shakes his head. 

 

Lance glares at his brothers (who still can’t be trusted to complete one simple task that Lance asks of them), but they aren’t paying attention to him anyway.  

 

“Want to?”

 

“Absolutely,” Shiro answers, a short laugh between words. “I can’t believe you have a pet cow.”

 

“She’s a _very_ good girl,” Lance says. He pauses, feeling somewhat embarrassed all of the sudden, and hoping Shiro can’t tell. “I can’t believe I talked about her so much that even _you_ knew about her.”

 

“Maybe I just listen to what you have to say,” Shiro says, and Lance turns to look at him, but his face isn’t reading one way or another. 

 

The field Lance brings them to is open and seems to go on forever, though Lance knows there’s a dirt road that cuts through the landscape. Dandelions dot the surface between blades of grass. Kaltenecker is grazing close to the fence, chewing grass slowly. She perks up when she sees Lance, running over to him just as he crawls over the fence. 

 

“Who’s my _beautiful_ girl?” Lance asks, immediately lying down on the soft grass to be near her. Kaltenecker drops down beside him, resting her head on his chest. He hugs her close, relishing her joy at seeing him. 

 

“Not sure I’ve ever seen a cow do _that_ ,” Shiro says from behind the fence. He’s watching them in a way Lance can only describe as _fondly_ , chin in his head. It makes Lance wonder if Shiro has ever had a pet before, and if so, what kind? Were they his? Was he sad to leave them?

 

“You can come in,” Lance says, fingers running through short fur. “She’s harmless.”

 

Shiro climbs over, approaching cautiously anyway. He reaches out, running a gentle hand over her hide. 

 

“We rescued her from a dairy farm. The living conditions were terrible,” Lance explains, scratching her head as he remembers. “First time we released her here was the first time she saw actual grass in a long time. She was really happy.”

 

“She looks happy now,” Shiro laughs, settling close by. He looks younger than Lance has ever seen him in the bright glow of the setting sun, mud caked all over and a boyish grin settled on his face. 

 

“I hate that I can’t visit her more,” Lance admits. “It feels wrong to leave her for so long. I’m sure everyone spoils her but it feels like I’m abandoning her every time I leave.” 

 

Shiro reaches out to pat Kaltenecker. 

 

“She knows she’s loved,” he says eventually. Lance nods. He knows that, of course. That she has this sort of love at all is a miracle.

 

“You know,” Shiro begins to say, pulling a piece of grass between his fingers, “you’re a lot different from what I imagined when I first saw you.”

 

Lance jolts, a knee-jerk reaction that has his mind spinning, trying to remember what he was like back then. Annoying, probably. He winces. 

 

“In, like… a bad way?” he asks.

 

“When I first saw you, you were still a student and I was still a teacher’s assistant. I never had you in my class but Iverson couldn’t stop complaining about you.” Shiro gives him a look that says he _knows_ things.

 

“I wasn’t that bad!” Lance defends himself. He wasn’t! Sure, he sneaked out past curfew, and fucked up most of his simulations, and he didn’t have much respect for _certain_ rules, but he never punched Iverson in the face (like Keith)! 

 

Although the thought crossed his mind a few times when he was unnecessarily mean to Pidge. 

 

“Iverson said you were escorted back onto campus by a group of nuns.”

 

“I was trying to recreate a scene from _Sister Act_! I saw the opportunity and I had to take it. For the Vine-- back when that was a thing!”

 

“He said you were drunk and wouldn’t stop singing about mashed potatoes?” Shiro makes a complicated face, as if he’s trying to figure out what that could possibly mean. 

 

“That’s from the bar scene! Y’know-- when they-- they put the coin in the jukebox and-- Haven’t you ever seen _Sister Act_?” 

 

“I’m afraid I haven’t,” Shiro answers. 

 

“Shiro,” Lance says, sitting up. He’s never been so serious in his life. “This is a travesty. How many more movies are you going to admit you’ve never seen in my presence?” 

 

Shiro shrugs. 

 

“We’re having a movie night as soon as we get back to the Garrison. If _you_ haven’t seen it, 9 times out of 10, Keith _also_ hasn’t. It’s just _wrong_.” 

 

“That’s fair,” Shiro agrees, continuing on. “It wasn’t a bad thing-- when I first saw you. Er, heard about you? I was intrigued. You reminded me of my innermost, secret self.” 

 

Lance scoffs, scratching Kaltenecker behind the ear. 

 

“What, you wanted to get drunk with a bunch of nuns?”

 

“If that was what it would take to make me feel free? Yes.”

 

“I almost fucked it all up for myself, Shiro,” Lance admits. Kaltenecker closes her eyes as her head rests on his lap. 

 

“You didn’t, though. Instead of giving up, you tried harder. Not just to get better grades, but to do so while still maintaining your sense of adventure.” 

 

Lance doesn’t know what to say. He feels flustered. He doesn’t want to smother the moment with a joke, so he murmurs a shy ‘thanks’ and leaves it at that. 

 

“What did you think about me?” Shiro asks, when an appropriate amount of time has passed. 

 

“‘Stone Cold’ Takashi Shirogane,” Lance says with a gasp, flattening a hand against his own chest in mock horror. “Are you fishing for compliments?”

 

Shiro shrugs, leaning back with his hands braced behind him. 

 

“You are! I never thought I’d see the day. I knew the modesty was a lie.”

 

“ _I_ never claimed to be modest,” Shiro says, and Lance throws a piece of grass at him. It flails pathetically, not even close to reaching him. 

 

He’s stalling. Explaining to Shiro what he _first_ thought of him would be so embarrassing, he’d have to launch himself on an early expedition through space. 

 

“I guess I thought what everyone else did,” he finally decides on, and Shiro lifts an eyebrow. 

 

“And what did everyone else think?”

 

“The teachers talked about you constantly. Everyone thought you were some kind of cool genius. Untouchable.”

 

“Wait… people really thought that about me? I was hardly the first student to skip a few steps ahead. Look at Pidge.” 

 

“It wasn’t really like that-- it’s the way you hold yourself. Like you were always meant for something greater.”

 

Shiro stares at him. 

 

“Do you think that?” he asks slowly. 

 

How can he ask that? He _has_ to know that Lance has always thought he was meant for more than the Garrison could _possibly_ give him. 

 

“Of course I do.” 

 

Shiro slumps back, eyes falling to the ground in thought.

 

They stay outside for a while, chatting and petting Kaltenecker until the sun dips down below the horizon and the mosquitos get to be too much. Kaltenecker wanders off towards the other cows, preferring to stay outside during the night when it’s a little cooler. 

 

Lance’s mom still makes them hose themselves down before they can come in for the evening.

 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

  


He gets the message as soon as he checks his phone, sitting down heavy as he reads it. 

 

“ _Lance,”_ it reads, _“I was so thrilled to see you post a picture of your new boyfriend-- Shiro, no less! He’s a wonderful man. Congratulations! I hope it isn’t presumptuous of me to assume it would be alright to contact you. Since you’ve moved on, I hoped it would make it less awkward to talk again. I miss your friendship, more than anything. You supported me in a way no one else ever had, and I’ve felt your absence keenly._

 

_I know we parted on strained terms, but maybe we could chat sometime?_

 

_I’ve actually started a romantic partnership myself. His name is Lotor. We have similar interests in terms of our careers-- that’s how we met. He’s so smart, and effortlessly charismatic._

 

_I wish you could meet him._

 

_Please write me back! If you want to, that is._

 

_Forever yours,_

_Allura.”_

  


─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

 

The familiar buzzing hum of cicadas lulls Lance into comfort, even now, when his heart is hurting and his mind is confused. He looks up into the yawning chasm of space, at the blinking of white burning stars that would normally pique his interest, make him yearn for adventure, and feels much of nothing.

 

Allura was his first love. Knowing that she’s with another man so soon after their break up, one she’s been working with since _before_ their breakup, tears a hole where it ought not to be, especially because Lance isn’t actually _with_ Shiro. Nor had he allowed himself to think of Shiro in that way when Allura had been his girlfriend. 

 

Had Allura always felt drawn to Lotor, then? 

 

Here’s the thing— he thought he’d _marry_ Allura. He thought about what their children would look like together. He’d had so many plans for the two of them, plans that Allura _hadn’t_ been making. Her visions had never involved the two of them, together. Her gaze stretched on into an endless forever that maybe had Lance in it, or maybe it didn’t. 

 

Second. An _afterthought_. 

 

The hurt is dull and far away, but if he hadn’t had time to heal, to find other things to plan and to adore? It might’ve just killed him. 

 

It’s in this state of mind that Veronica finds him. 

 

She sits beside him, her eyes gazing out into the dark of the wilderness around them. They’d done this when they were children and nothing could hurt their hearts so profoundly.

 

The brightness of her regard lights upon him, and he meets her sympathetic gaze with a neutral expression. 

 

“You okay?” she asks, which was inevitable. Everyone knows everything in this stupid house. His mother must’ve asked Shiro what happened— why Lance was so upset before he went outside. He feels like a bit of an asshole for leaving Shiro behind when Allura isn’t supposed to be like that for him anymore. 

 

“I’m fine,” he assures her, if only to get her to stop asking questions she already knows the answer to. 

 

She grabs his hand in hers anyway, holding it in both of hers. 

 

“I know you’re upset about Allura. I know how much she meant to you, and how much of your heart you give away when it’s _really_ important.” She hesitates, looking out across the sky. “Shiro is here for you now, and I _know_ you love him.”

 

His breath hitches, angry and scared all at once. Of _course_ he loves Shiro. Who could spend any amount of time pretending to without really, truly falling for him? He’s so fuckin’ lovely it makes Lance want to scream. He’s lovely and Lance is all wrong.

 

“I don’t deserve him,” he admits, sounding small— small and so out of his element, so far out beyond the waves, too tired, too lost to find the shore. 

 

“ _Yes_ , you do Lance,” she insists, fierce and unapologetic. “It didn’t work out with Allura because you respected her and loved her enough to let her go. She would’ve stayed with you if you’d asked her.”

 

“She would’ve been miserable. I couldn’t do that to her.”

 

“Exactly my point,” she says, her face reading triumph. “You’re a _good_ person, no matter what anyone else has made you believe. Including you.”

 

“I’m not, Veronica. I’m selfish,” Lance whispers, finding tears in his eyes and his voice. “I want Shiro all to myself. I want him to think of we, us-- together. I want his dreams to include me in them.”

 

“That’s just love, I think.” She goes thoughtful, though she seems to be struggling with whatever she’s thinking about. “I can’t promise he’ll want that... or that he won’t ever change his mind. But I can promise I’ll be here for you… even if you’re being a whiny, pain in the ass.”

 

“Shut up,” Lance says pathetically, dropping his head to her shoulder. “I love you.”

 

“I love you, too.”

 

“Bitch.”

 

“Shithead.”

 

“It’s Sha-THEED!” 

 

They dissolve into laughter, and though Lance feels like a beach towel hung out to dry, the ache is not so terrible. 

 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

 

“ _Allura_ ,” he writes. “ _We can talk after I get home from Christmas vacation. I miss being friends. And omg i Miss coRAN SO MUCH--”_

 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

 

“Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve,” Lance sighs, dropping onto the bed dramatically and staring at the ceiling. He’s freaking _tired_. Wrapping was fun, especially when Lisa brought in some mulled cider and decided to show him some mercy and help him. She’d been over-enthused about it, probably because she knew what was bothering him. 

 

Shiro, who had taken his silence as a reason not to pry, bless him, presses his thick-rimmed glasses back up the bridge of his nose. His hair is still wet from his bath, and he looks content. Probably the bath bomb Lance forced him to use— lavender and epsom salt, baby! 

 

“It’s going by quickly,” he says, dog-earing his place in one of Lance’s astronomy books. He gives Lance his full attention. “Are you sad about that?”

 

“A little. I feel like I never see my family anymore. I have two lives.” Lance lifts his hands, spreading his fingers as he admires the shine of his recently done nails in the dim bedroom lighting. “What about you?”

 

“Getting an actual break made me realize just how much I’ve needed one…” Shiro trails off. 

 

“But…?”

 

“ _But_... I’m still itching to get back to work. We’re getting closer to Kerberos every day.”

 

Kerberos. 

Lance hasn’t been thinking about it for good reason. The closer they get to Kerberos, the closer he is to _leaving_ Earth. He doesn’t know what’ll happen. He doesn’t know when he’ll see his family again. 

 

It’s scary to think about. It’s everything they’ve dreamed of. 

 

Lance wants to make them _all_ proud— his family, his team, and the world. 

 

“What do you think it’ll be like out there?” he asks, mind in a faraway place with vast darkness and brilliant stars. 

 

“Cold,” Shiro answers, giving Lance a boyish grin. “Stunning.”

 

“I’ll miss my family,” Lance admits, hoping it doesn’t seem too childish. He drops his hands from where he’s been looking at them, turning his face to Shiro. He can’t help his eyebrows tilting upwards pitifully. 

 

Shiro smiles at him, reaching out and covering Lance’s forehead with his palm. 

 

“It’s okay to feel that way. Everyone else will miss theirs too.” He threads his fingers through Lance’s hair, and the sensation sends shivers down Lance’s spine, his eyes closing of their own accord. 

 

“At least we’ll have each other,” Lance says, meaning the whole team, but somehow it hangs heavy and intimate between them anyway.

 

Shiro’s fingers card through his soft strands for a while, taking care to be gentle. 

 

“What are we doing tomorrow?” Shiro asks, eventually. 

 

“Mmm,” Lance hums, the hand in his hair making his limbs feel like Jell-O. “Beach day.”

 

“I haven’t been to the beach in a long time.”

 

“I’ll make sure to slather you in sunscreen,” Lance promises, smiling despite himself. Any excuse to get his hands on Shiro, right?

 

“Do I get a free massage with that?” Shiro teases, tugging slightly on Lance’s hair. Lance bites back the noise that wants to bubble up from his throat. That would be pretty embarrassing. 

 

“Only if you tip well,” he manages, his lashes fluttering as he opens his eyes. 

 

Shiro is watching him carefully, head tilted as he takes him in. 

 

“Deal,” he says, biting his lip as he smiles. “Maybe hold onto your shorts this time?”

 

Shiro narrowly dodges the pillow Lance throws at him. 

 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

 

Going to Varadero Beach on Christmas Eve has been a family tradition since Lance can remember. It’s almost as important to him as Christmas day, and fills him with that same sort of whimsical excitement. 

 

He’s excited to share this with Shiro. 

 

The sun is shining bright and toasty overhead by the time they all get to their favorite part of the beach, and, lucky for them, it’s not crowded at all. They all end up carrying something or another, and set up in the white sands near the shore. 

 

Dropping his things where he stands, Lance inhales deeply, closing his eyes as the familiar scent of seabreeze takes over his senses. He’s spent so much time here growing up, but it never gets old. It’s like a small paradise, his own slice of heaven. 

 

Shiro steps up beside him, looking out across the vast blue of the ocean. There are no large waves, no rocks or seaweed washed upon the shore. It’s all calm tranquility. 

 

“What do you think?” Lance asks, too impatient to know what Shiro thinks to wait for him to say it himself. 

 

“It’s… really something else,” Shiro says, his voice soft and awestruck. 

 

Lance nods, satisfied with the answer. He’s been around enough tourists to understand appreciation when he sees it.

 

His dad dictates the set up of beach chairs and umbrellas, and Luis and Marco _actually_ set it all up. Rachel and Veronica spread out beach towels and pull out sunscreen. Lance and Shiro set out the cooler (which is full of soda and beer). 

 

His mom is manning a camera, snapping photos of everything she can. 

 

Sylvio and Nadia are vibrating next to Lisa, waiting for her to strip down to her bathing suit so they can jump into the ocean just ahead of her. They’ve already thrown their outer clothes off, bathing suits at the ready. 

 

“Sunscreen first,” Lance says, pointing to Rachel. She’s smothering Veronica’s skin in sunscreen. 

 

“I hate sunscreen,” Sylvio pats. “It’s sticky.”

 

“Would you rather have sunburn?” Lance asks, ruffling his hair. “You had it last year, remember? You got so red and had to stay in bed all day on Christmas.”

 

“Oh yeah.”

 

“To Rachel,” Lance directs, pushing him towards her with a laugh.  

 

“Here Lance.” Veronica tosses him a bottle of sunscreen. She winks at him, wiggling her eyebrows in Shiro’s direction. 

 

Lance chooses to ignore her, turning to Shiro tentatively. 

 

“You’re swimming, right?” 

 

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Shiro says, crossing his arms and grabbing the bottom of his shirt. He pulls it straight over his head, no hesitation whatsoever. Rachel trips over her beach towel. 

 

“ _Damn_ babe,” Lance says, trying not to laugh at her. He’s also trying to keep his cool, but nobody needs to know that. Shiro doesn’t willingly strip often, and it’s still startling to see all of _that_ up close. “You work out?”

 

Shiro chuckles, stepping closer as Lance squeezes a dollop of sunscreen onto his hand, rubbing it between his palms to try and warm it. 

 

“I’ve shared some training time with a remarkably agile sparring partner,” he says, sucking in a breath when Lance takes the opportunity presented to him and places his palms on Shiro’s pecs. “S’cold.”

 

“Sorry,” Lance responds, though he’s admittedly distracted. There’s a palmful of tiddy in each of his hands. 

 

“Take your time,” Shiro says. With any other person, the overconfidence would be infuriating. Thinking about Keith being so smug would definitely make Lance want to punch him square in the mouth. 

 

Shiro? Shiro makes it work. 

 

Overtime.

 

Lance drags his hands downward over tensed muscle, fanning outwards to Shiro’s sculpted obliques. He has muscles Lance didn’t even know existed. This is outrageous, it’s unfair!

 

Getting more sunscreen, he moves up to Shiro’s shoulders, rubbing it in a circular motion. It’s like putting lotion on Thor. Where’s the hammer? Shiro is worthy. 

 

“Leave some muscle for me,” Lance mumbles and Shiro snorts, turning at Lance’s request. His back is _just_ as muscular, _damn him_ , and running his hands over the expanse of it is giving Lance heart palpitations. 

 

Sorry, Ariana Grande. God isn’t a woman. 

 

By the time he’s finished smothering sunscreen where it’s most important, Lance is worn out. It’s time to pack it up, Lance’s limbs won’t be able to fight against the tide. 

 

“Oh, wait,” Lance says, turning Shiro around. He grabs Shiro’s chin, smearing some lotion onto his cheeks, forehead and nose. “Can’t forget the face!”

 

The unimpressed look Shiro gives him makes him laugh, if only because there’s cream all over his face. 

 

“Your turn?” Shiro asks, and Lance _forgot_. _He_ has to have sunscreen applied too. 

 

“Uhm,” he starts, “ye-ah.”

 

His voice does _not_ crack. 

 

(It does.)

 

Shiro metes out a little sunscreen onto his palm, mimicking Lance’s earlier intention of warming it before he applies it. Lance removes his shirt while he does, feeling remarkably small all of the sudden. 

 

He wouldn’t say he’s _not_ confident in his own looks, but _c’mon_.  If Shiro is Thor, Lance is… Spider-man? Pre-bite Spider-man? Going through a bad breakup Spider-man?

 

Shiro spreads his palms out onto Lance’s stomach, and _wow,_ Lance thought he was prepared. An honest mistake. 

 

Calloused hands slide across his skin with ease, and Lance full-body shivers, hoping Shiro doesn’t notice the uptick in his breathing. 

 

Throughout the course of this vacation, Shiro’s hands have been on him more times than he can count, but the intent behind the action doesn’t match up. Shiro has gotten so much closer, and his movements are slow and deliberate. 

 

His hands cover the expanse of Lance’s ribcage, lingering for a moment until he spreads the sunscreen over Lance’s pecs and up to his shoulders. Each arm is meticulously covered, all the way down to his hands. 

 

He turns Lance physically, applying the lotion down the stretch of his back, down, down, dipping briefly under the waistband of Lance’s bathing suit. His breath catches, and then Shiro’s hands are gone, turning him back around. 

 

“Face,” Shiro says, and Lance turns up to him, closing his eyes so Shiro can’t see how huge his pupils have gotten, and so he can’t see the look on Shiro’s face when he spies the flush on his cheeks. “You’re all set, cadet.”

 

_Cadet._  

 

_That’s_ a kink he’s never explored before. 

 

“Thanks, _Captain_ ,” Lance says, shaking it off as best as he can. “Ready to go?” 

 

“Let’s do it.”

 

There’s nothing Lance doesn’t like about the beach. He loves the feel of the grains of sand clinging to his skin, the way his hair turns lighter from salt and sun and wind, the heady scent of the ocean, the warmth of the sun making his skin golden and dark. He’s fallen asleep listening to the waves crest and fall, found comfort in closing his eyes and hearing seagulls call out above. 

 

His feet hit the water, sand pulled out from under him as the water recedes slightly. It comes back, foaming at his ankles and he makes a delighted noise. 

 

Shiro is flexing his toes in the sand, getting a feel for the temperature, no doubt. 

 

“C’mon,” Lance says. Shiro follows, letting Lance guide him further out. They’re up to their hips in wavy water when they stop, glancing around. 

 

“I can see fish,” Shiro mentions, and Lance can tell by the tone of his voice that he’s enamored with them. They’re tiny little things, but brave— like to nip at skin and swim up shorts. “The water is so clear.”

 

Lance steps further out. His feet are unsteady, but he knows what he’s doing. He can hear Shiro splashing about to follow him. 

 

He doesn’t go much further than where the sand slopes downward, his feet hardly touching the seafloor. He circles around Shiro, smiling as they ride the waves and let themselves be pulled back out. 

 

They’re joined by everyone else soon enough. There’s lots of splashing and sputtering, shouts from Sylvio and Nadia as they get their little toes bitten by curious fish. Luis dunks Marco beneath the surface, and the ensuing war ends up dragging Rachel and Veronica into it as well.  

 

Lance doesn’t know how long they’re out there, laughing and playing and swimming. They play chicken, Lance on Shiro’s shoulders against whoever’ll take ‘em on. He gets knocked off by Lisa, who crows victorious only to get dunked by Luis. 

 

Seeing everyone so happy brings him such joy. He squeezes his eyes shut in an attempt to keep the memory forever, just in case. If something happens with the Kerberos mission, he wants this memory to be there for him to turn to. 

 

His parents don’t spend long in the water, and Lance can see them sunbathing when he finally remembers where he is. Sometimes the shore doesn’t exist to him when he’s in the water. 

 

Shiro is pushing his hair back when Lance snags him, motioning towards the beach. They lets the waves do most of the work bringing them back to shore, laughing as they trip over one another. 

 

“Tired?” Shiro asks, water droplets caressing his skin as they drift downwards. It’s absolutely unfair how beautiful he looks. Lance probably looks like a waterlogged cat next to him. 

 

“Here? Never. But I could use a drink,” he says. “Maybe a snack, too.”

 

They approach their small set up, the breeze drying them off just slightly.

 

“Come sit with me, Shiro,” Lance’s mom says when they arrive, motioning for Shiro to sit on the beach chair beside her. He obliges, taking the offered towel with a thanks. 

 

“But I was gonna go get a snack,” Lance whines.

 

“You can do that by yourself. You always have.”

 

Lance pouts at them. 

 

“Stop giving us such a pitiful look,” she says, laughing. “Go enjoy yourself. Shiro will be fine.”

 

“It _is_ fine, Lance,” Shiro assures him. “Your mom is a really great conversationalist.” He winks at her. 

 

“He’s not so bad himself,” she responds, adjusting her sunglasses. “Have fun, honey.”

 

Lance shrugs, but keeps looking back as he walks away. This isn’t the first private conversation they’ve had with one another, but Shiro looks happy enough chatting with her and Lance knows his mom. She isn’t going to do anything to make him feel uncomfortable. 

 

He takes his time getting a snack from one of the open concession stands, waving at people who are here every year. The wood of the boardwalk is creaky under his gait, and Lance walks the entire thing, making commentary to people who are fishing. They laugh with him, sharing anecdotes about their time here as either visitors or locals. 

 

Feeding some of his snack to the roaming seagulls, he leans over the edge of the boardwalk, spying a sea turtle. He watches it for a while, the way it comes up to the surface and then dips back under, just visible as a shadow. 

 

He hasn’t relaxed like this in a while. It’s crazy how stressed he can make himself sometimes, all the weight of not only his team’s expectations, but his own expectations crushing down on him at work. He loves what he does, loves the thrill of knowing someday he’ll be in actual _space_ , but he’s scared he’s gonna fuck it all up somehow. 

 

Everyone is so extraordinary— he still doesn’t know what he did to deserve his spot on their team. 

 

Sighing, he shakes his head of those sorts of thoughts. It won’t do to dwell on that right now. He’s here to enjoy himself and dang it— he’s gonna. 

 

By the time he makes it back, everyone else has migrated back to the shore. Rachel is tanning on her stomach, tapping away at her phone. Veronica is reading under a beach umbrella, nursing a beer in her other hand. 

 

“Hey,” Shiro greets as Lance approaches him. “Have fun?”

 

“Yeah. Saw a turtle, helped some poor tourists catch a fish.” Lance sits down beside Shiro’s chair, leaning against his legs. He closes his eyes, head pillowed on Shiro’s thigh. A hand runs through his hair, smoothing the wet strands away from his face. 

 

“Tired now?” Shiro asks. There’s a distinct brand of humor in his voice. 

 

“Mm, maybe a little bit.” The sun feels so good on his skin, the soft sand pillowing him from underneath. 

 

“Take a nap, honey,” his mom says, and he shakes his head. What would be the point of that?  

 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

 

Which is why he’s woken with gentle hands what feels like only moments later. He blinks up blearily at Shiro, who is smiling at him. 

 

“You fell asleep. Didn’t think you’d want to miss the arm wrestling thing,” he says, and Lance’s eyes shoot open. 

 

“Arm wrestling!? Without me??” Shiro helps him up, trailing after him as Lance makes his way to the picnic table where the annual arm wrestling match takes place. 

 

Luis is just pinning Marco by the time Lance makes it over, and he points a dramatic finger at him. 

 

“You thought you could avoid a rematch with me!” 

 

“Sorry, Lance. We didn’t want to wake the wittle sweeping baby--”

 

Lance shoves Marco out of the way, slapping his elbow onto the table. 

 

“Rematch, Luis! It’s on like Donkey Kong!”

 

“You’re on, little brother,” Luis counters, placing his elbow on the table. They both grasp hands, leaning forward slightly. 

 

“You know the rules,” Lance’s dad says. “On my count.”

 

Lance narrows his eyes at Luis, who only grins at him in response. He’s always won the match, but Lance has been training for this. Vaguely, he’s aware of Shiro standing at the edge of the crowd. 

 

“...2… 3!” 

 

Lance tenses, bracing himself for Luis’ raw strength. Everything about Luis is strong— his voice, his presence, and definitely his muscles. He’s always been a big guy, and never had a problem building strength. 

 

Lance, however, has always been slighter, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t bulked up a little. He may look thin under the loose clothes, but he can see the surprise on Luis’ face when Lance starts to push his arm in the opposite direction. 

 

Luis doubles down, pressing Lance’s arm to 9 o’clock. 

 

“C’mon Lance!!” Veronica yells. She always roots for him, and he appreciates the continued loyalty. 

 

Lance pushes harder, arm shaking with effort. Luis grunts, using more strength than he’s ever had to before. 

 

Everyone is yelling, except for Marco, who is badly humming ‘Eye of the Tiger’. 

 

“You can do it, Lance,” Shiro’s voice cuts through, and Lance bares his teeth, shoving Luis’ hand almost all the way down. 

 

It’s not quite enough, though Lance is so close he can taste it. 

 

“Where’s this strength coming from?” Luis asks, laughing in disbelief. 

 

Honestly, training everyday helped, but he’d also arm wrestled with Hunk a lot. Preparation is key, and Luis hasn’t prepared for anything because he thinks he has it in the bag. 

 

“Go, go, go!!” Rachel shrieks, jumping up and down. He doesn’t know who she’s rooting for, honestly. 

 

Lance can feel Luis’ arm trembling, and uses it to his advantage, forcing his hand further down. 

 

It touches the table. 

 

“ _Yes!!_ ” Veronica yells, pumping her fist into the air. Everyone rushes forward, jostling Lance in congratulations. 

 

Oh! He did it! 

 

“That’s right! Oh yeah!” Lance self-congratulates, giving high fives all around. “Kobe, how does my ass taste?” 

 

“Alright, alright-- you earned it.” Luis says, grabbing Lance in a noogie anyway. The disrespect. “I’m proud of you.” 

 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

 

“What did my mom talk to you about today?” Lance asks, even though he’s close to sleep. After the arm wrestling match, they’d stayed at the beach until evening. Nadia and Sylvio had fallen into a deep sleep and didn’t even wake when they moved them from the car. 

 

Everyone got a little red in the face and the shoulders, but they’d also all had a good time (and it’s nothing a little aloe vera won’t fix). They’d even gotten tacos at a beachside restaurant, drinking fruity alcohol with little umbrellas in them. 

 

He watches the shadows shift on the planes of Shiro’s face as he moves. 

 

“She was trying to get us to come back for your birthday. Wanted to know when my birthday was so she could send me a gift,” Shiro says. 

 

Suddenly, Lance feels his breath catch. 

 

“Oh,” he says, feeling like a piece of shit. “What did you say?”

 

“I told her I didn’t know if we’d be available, because of how quickly the mission is progressing, but I wouldn’t mind seeing everyone again.”

 

“You wouldn’t?” 

 

“I wouldn’t. Your family has done nothing but make me feel welcome. Plus, they’re pretty entertaining. I guess they’d have to be to produce someone like you.”

 

Lance snorts, pulling the covers up to his face to hide his smile. 

 

“We’d have to pretend to date again,” he says, and Shiro goes quiet for a minute. 

 

“I wouldn’t mind that either.”

 

God, Lance’s heart fucking _hurts_. All these deceptions, all these doubts. He just wants to throw caution to the wind and tell Shiro how much he cares for him, how he _wants_ him to feel like part of his family, that he’s _always_ welcome. 

 

“Me neither,” he reveals instead and lets Shiro think of that what he will.  

 

They’re quiet for some time, just listening to each other breathe. 

 

“Shiro?” Lance asks, his voice croaking. 

 

“Hm?” He sounds distracted and focused on something else. 

 

“Will you come back here with me on my birthday?” 

 

Shiro shifts, and the light hits his eyes just enough for Lance to see them properly.

 

“Yes, Lance. I will.”

 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

 

Lance wakes up alone. It’s still relatively dark, but Lance can tell it’s early morning. Their rooster is crowing enthusiastically from his perch somewhere out on the farm. 

 

He looks around the room in hazy confusion, blinking as his eyes adjust. Shiro isn’t in the bed beside him, but the covers are tucked around him carefully, like he was making sure Lance would be comfortable and warm without him. 

 

The intention strikes him like lightning through his heart. 

 

How can people _stand_ feeling like this all the time? He feels fit to burst— into tears or hysterics or laughter, he’s not sure. 

 

Taking in a deep breath as he stretches, he shoves the covers off, foregoing getting dressed to stay in his pajamas. He’ll dress for dinner later.

 

He creeps through the halls so as not to wake Nadia and Sylvio, and finds Shiro in the kitchen. He’s nursing a cup of coffee, looking sleepy (hair messy and soft) but content as Lance’s dad makes his own cup nearby. 

 

He’s struck by the domesticity of the scene, about how natural it feels to have Shiro here, about how much he’s been aching and aching and _aching_ for _something_. 

 

“G’morning,” Shiro greets, and Lance’s dad turns, lifting his cup as _his_ ‘good morning’ as he passes by, most likely to sit in his chair in the living room. Lance waits until he’s gone and tiptoes closer, stretching up onto the balls of his feet and catching Shiro’s mouth in a kiss. 

 

Shiro isn’t expecting it, but that doesn’t stop him from responding, sending Lance’s stomach into a dangerous swan dive. An arm ropes around Lance’s waist, pulling him _so_ close, and Lance arches his back, trying to be closer still. 

Lance doesn’t know what’s gotten into himself, but he parts his lips, feels Shiro’s mouth part as well. An invitation. He seizes the opportunity, licking into the space in Shiro’s mouth and tasting the sweet coffee on his tongue. His hands come up to hold Shiro’s face and he breathes heavy through his nose, something pulling heavy deep within his lower belly when Shiro kisses him, open mouthed and wet. 

 

Shiro turns them around, pushing Lance up against the counter in such a way that has Lance’s knees wobbling, fire curling through his gut. Lance throws his hands behind himself for purchase, clutching the edge until his knuckles turn white. Shiro takes his face in his hands this time, running one hand down the long column of his throat and resting it there.

 

“C’mon,” Lance murmurs against his lips, dizzy for it. 

 

Shiro makes a guttural sort of noise, catching Lance’s lower lip between his teeth, soothing over the sting of it with his lips, opening Lance’s mouth to suck on his tongue and—

 

“Oh shit!” Veronica gasps.

 

Lance sucks in a breath as he pulls away abruptly, hands landing on Shiro’s chest to stabilize himself. Shiro is still so close, panting heavy against him. 

 

“Sorry,” Lance says as he moves, when he can talk or move or _think_. “Sorry, Merry Christmas. Sorry.”

 

He turns, leaving the kitchen and wiping at his mouth. Veronica is still stuck to her spot by the doorway, and he avoids eye contact with her.

 

Fuck, why did he do that? Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

 

He just— seeing Shiro like that just… it was too much. 

 

It’s okay. It’s fine. Lance will just… pretend it never happened and hope for the best. This _cannot_ ruin Christmas in any way. 

 

He plops himself down on the couch, his dad grunting another good morning. 

 

“Dad?” he asks, sounding like a strangled cat. 

 

“Yes?” 

 

“I love Shiro,” he says, and his dad lifts his brows at him. 

 

“I would hope so, son.”

 

“Okay,” Lance says. 

 

“Okay. You okay?”

 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he answers. “Love you.”

 

“And I love you. You get that strangeness from your mother, you know.”

 

“He does not,” his mom says as she walks into the room, wheeling Lance’s grandmother close to the tree. She likes watching the lights twinkle. “Stop telling lies. He gets it from Mamá, isn’t that right?”

 

Grandma looks up at his mother, smiling serenely. She nods. 

 

“See? Mamá admits it,” his mom says, kissing Grandma on the forehead. “I need some coffee. Is Shiro awake, honey?”

 

“Y-yeah, he’s… drinking coffee in the kitchen,” Lance answers, standing up so he can swoop down to kiss Grandma’s cheek. She smiles widely at him too, communicating her love with her eyes. “I’m gonna go get… Shiro’s gift. I didn’t put it under the tree yet.”

 

“Don’t wake the kids just yet if you can,” his dad says, and Lance nods vaguely as he trudges back to his room. 

 

He’s only half-aware of what he’s doing, his fingers coming up to touch his lips as he moves around his room, lost in thought. He still feels the heat of Shiro’s kiss on his mouth. He still smells the scent of him clinging to him like a shadow. 

 

Barely registering his movements, he opens his luggage on autopilot, digging through clothes until he spies his hastily wrapped gift. He didn’t get much time to work on it before they left, but he finished it last night when helping Lisa wrap the kids’ gifts. 

 

He holds it tightly, the bright red patterned paper crinkling under his grip. He hopes Shiro will love... it. 

 

The door opens and Lance startles, putting the gift behind his back just before Shiro peeks his head in. 

 

“Hey, sorry-- can I come in?” Shiro asks. 

 

“Yeah, sure, of course! Dude, psh. C’mon in,” he says, absolutely overdoing it. 

 

Shiro closes the door behind him softly, trying to be quiet. 

 

“I didn’t get to put your gifts under the tree yet. I got some for your family, too. It’s not much, but it’s the least I could do for them.”

 

“That’s-- that’s really nice, Shiro. You didn’t have to.”

 

“It was nothing. I think they’ll like it?” He sounds nervous. 

 

“They’ll like _anything_ you give them,” Lance assures him. He’s 100% sure that’s true. 

 

“Were you busy?” Shiro asks. 

 

“Oh!” Lance pulls the gift out from behind his back. “This is your gift. Can’t have it yet, but I didn’t get to put it under the tree yet, either. No peeking!” 

 

“Got it-- no peeking.” 

 

Lance moves to go but Shiro stops him with a hesitant hand on his arm. 

 

“You-- in the kitchen. You kissed me because Veronica was behind you?” 

 

Oh. 

 

“Yeah,” Lance answers, mouth dry. “Couples get extra lovey-dovey on Christmas, right?”

 

“Right,” Shiro says. He looks down. “Right.” 

 

Lance can’t help but feel like maybe he said something wrong. 

 

“Sorry,” Shiro apologizes, letting go of his arm so he can leave. “I’ll be down in a few.”

 

“Okay…” 

 

Lance shuts the door behind him, almost turning back to ask Shiro if he’s alright. He doesn’t want to read too much into anything. Veronica was the perfect cover for the impromptu kiss…

 

So why does everything feel so wrong? 

 

His brothers and Lisa are awake and in the living room by the time he comes back to put the gift under the tree. Rachel has her head pillowed on Grandma’s lap, eyes closed as she snoozes lightly. She probably stayed up too late. 

 

“Merry Christmas,” Veronica says. “Sorry about earlier?”

 

“It’s fine,” he answers, shutting that down quickly. He doesn’t want to talk about it. “Merry Christmas.”

 

He sits down beside his mother, letting her run her hands through his hair and kiss his forehead in greeting. She still makes him feel like a child sometimes, and probably always will. 

 

He basks in the warmth and comfort, if only for a moment. 

 

“Incoming!” Shiro announces as he barrels down the stairs with two children climbing on him like monkeys. They’re shrieking their joy, clinging to him until he deposits them onto the floor. 

 

Lisa is bombarded immediately. 

 

“Can we open them now? Please, please, please, please--”

 

“Please can’t we? We’ve been good--”

 

“--please, please, please, please--”

 

“--and I brushed my teef and pologized to Sylvio for biting him--”

 

“--please, please, please, please--”

 

“OKAY! Mary, Joseph, and Jesus,” Lisa swears. “You may open your presents now. WAIT-- until someone passes them to you.”

 

They sit in their own little spots, eyes getting wide with each gift that appears in front of them. Sylvio reads a few of the tags as they stack them up, touching the gifts in excitement. Nadia dances in place. 

 

Gifts are distributed all over (Shiro looking vaguely embarrassed by the pile that appears in front of him), and before they know it everyone has a stack in front of them. 

 

“Okay everyone. Have at it!” 

 

The kids are screeching before they even see what’s inside their first gifts. 

 

Everyone sets about opening a gift at a time, exclaiming their surprise and happiness. The adults hold their gifts out for everyone to see, chatting about how much they wanted it or that they didn’t expect to get it. 

 

Lance watches Shiro nervously, even as he opens his own gifts. He doesn’t want to miss Shiro opening his gift. He wants to see his reaction.

 

It doesn’t take long for the red gift to appear in his hands and Lance can’t help it. 

 

“So, I didn’t have a lot of time to do this and I guess it isn’t super extravagant? But I hope you like it,” Lance babbles, watching Shiro read the tag, his palms sweaty as he waits. 

 

“From you?”

 

“Yeah-- like I said, it was kinda last minute, so if it’s stupid--”

 

“I haven’t seen it yet, Lance.”

 

“Right! Ahaha, yeah. Go ahead!”

 

Shiro takes his time (of course), ripping at the paper to slowly reveal the gift underneath. He turns it over in his hands, freezing when he reads the words on the front, accompanied with a photo.

 

It’s a picture of the team when they first formed, all fresh-faced and a little uncomfortable with one another. The words, ‘Found Family’, are embossed in gold above that. 

 

“Lance,” Shiro says, so low he almost misses it. 

 

“Open it,” Lance urges. 

 

He does, flipping it open to the first page, which makes him laugh immediately. It’s a goofy photo of Matt and Shiro at a Halloween party, cheesing for the camera (also probably shitfaced, which is apparent by the flush on their cheeks and general disarray of their Power Rangers costumes). 

 

Another page has Shiro giving Keith a piggyback ride, as Keith is asleep and drooling on his shoulder. Hunk is with Shiro on the next page, holding out a piece of food for him to taste while Shiro looks at it fearfully. 

 

Pidge’s photo features Shiro flexing a bicep while she hangs off of his arm, feet dangling high off the ground. Her genuine happiness exudes from the picture. 

 

Sam and Shiro’s picture is more professional, their hands clasped as Samuel welcomes Shiro as the first (outside) member of the team. There’s pride and hope on Samuel’s face, standing straight and tall. 

 

Turning the page, Shiro throws his head back when he sees the picture from the diner, matching whipped cream mustaches on both his and Lance’s face. 

 

There are various other photos of the team together. Some of them are pictures of all of them sleeping in strange parts of their department, some of them are from late dinners together, and some are things Lance specifically chose to highlight how important Shiro is to all of them. 

 

When Shiro looks up, there’s a suspicious sheen to his eyes. He sets the book aside, turning to Lance.

 

“C’mere,” Shiro says, and Lance’s heart surges just as his body moves forward to meet Shiro’s in a hug. The arms that wrap around him hold him tightly, and Lance closes his eyes, relishing every moment. He can feel Shiro’s heart beating with his, and swallows the emotions that threaten to bubble up and spill over.

 

“Thank you,” Shiro murmurs in his ear, and Lance just holds him tighter, not wanting to let go. 

 

They have to part eventually, especially when they remember they have an audience. Shiro lets them pass the album around to each other, his family cooing and laughing at photos they’ve never seen before. 

 

When Lance gets to Shiro’s gift, Shiro seems just as nervous. Lance doesn’t do him dirty by opening the gift slowly. When he reveals what’s underneath the blue wrapping paper, he stills. 

 

It’s a star map— a personalized constellation labeled ‘The Night We Met’, with a date written out underneath. The midnight blue background illuminates the gold embossed lines, the many stars seemingly shining in the lights from the living room. 

 

The date is from years ago— back when Shiro was still a teacher’s assistant and Lance was still a student. They _did_ meet then. They’d shaken hands. Shiro had asked him, “Lance, right?”

 

He’d known Lance’s name even then as if Lance were somehow important or recognizable. 

 

There’s nothing but reverence in his touch as his fingers graze the lettering. 

 

“This is… This means a lot to me,” he gets out, trying not to choke on unshed tears. Shiro nods once.

 

He sees his mom watching them and wipes at his eyes, smiling. 

 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

 

**Lance:** merry crisis

 

**Hunk:** happy chrysler

 

**Keith:** merry shitscram 

 

**Pidge:** it’s chrimuhs

 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

 

Christmas dinner preparation is, arguably, the craziest part of the holiday. His mom is so focused she might as well be shooting lasers from her eyeballs. Every inch of the meal is being carefully watched, though Lance has never been sure _how_. He tried to sneak a dollop of whipped cream once, and she’d appeared out of nowhere, slapping his hand and yelling at him all the way out the kitchen door. 

 

This year, she’s put both Lance _and_ Shiro to work. So far, they’ve peeled plantains and are working through a huge bag of potatoes at the dining room table. 

 

Lance half expects his mom to come in and demand them to go faster, but he can hear her speaking a mile a minute to one of his great aunts. 

 

Even _more_ family had poured in this afternoon, shocking Shiro with their appearance. Apparently, he’d thought whoever was here was all that was going to be here. 

 

“It’s really cute that you thought that,” Lance had said, patting him sympathetically. That’s what they _all believe._

 

Still, Lance does feel a _little_ bad about it. There’s no way on Earth Shiro is going to remember that many names. Hell, Lance barely remembers them and they’re _his_ family. Distant family, but still. 

 

“Hhhhhhhhhhh,” Lance whines, shaking his hand out. “Mom, these potatoes are too big and my hand is cramping.”

 

She doesn’t even acknowledge him, sweeping past without a single glance. Hurtful, but expected. 

 

“We don’t have much left,” Shiro points out, dutifully peeling potatoes like a pro. Whatever, Shiro’s got really big hands and it’s not Lance’s fault that his own hands aren’t freakishly strong. 

 

Lance looks at his half-peeled root vegetable and rolls his eyes, picking it back up. If he grumbles a little bit, only Shiro is privy to what he’s saying. 

 

Veronica and Rachel pull chairs out across the table. They both have different types of fruits. 

 

“Pie?” Lance asks. 

 

“Pie,” Veronica confirms. “You’re lucky you missed Thanksgiving.”

 

“What did we have at the Garrison for Thanksgiving dessert, Shiro?” Lance asks, lifting his brows. 

 

“Nobody knows,” he answers, cutting the potatoes into cubes. 

 

“And you were saying…?” Lance asks Veronica. 

 

“It can’t be _that_ bad,” Rachel comments, popping a piece of apple peel into her mouth. 

 

“What did we have for Thanksgiving _dinner_ , Shiro?” Lance asks, maintaining eye contact with his naive, foolish sister. 

 

“We all thought it _could_ be meat, but the texture was the same as the vegetables, so we weren’t sure.”

 

Lance flips his hand out, twisting his lips wryly at her. 

 

“...Okay, I guess it _is_ that bad,” she says, widening her eyes as she looks away. 

 

 “Mom’s cooking is what I miss the most when I’m gone,” Lance admits, sighing as he thinks of the wonderful, mouthwatering Cuban cuisine he misses when he’s not here. 

 

“Gee, thanks,” Veronica says, dropping an orange peel. 

 

“Oh, was I supposed to miss y’all? That seems like a _lot_ of effort for a bunch of st-- OI. Don’t throw apples at me! I was almost blinded!” 

 

“Bitch,” Rachel mutters. 

 

“What was that?” Lance asks, narrowing his eyes at her. 

 

“I said… biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitch,” Rachel says, dodging a potato that Lance chucks at her. 

 

“Hey!” Shiro says, startling everyone to attention. “No fighting on Christmas… Your mom will kill us.”

 

“Finally,” Veronica sighs. “Someone with some sense.”

 

“Kiss-ass.”

 

“Don’t start,” Shiro warns.

 

“Only for a kiss,” Lance wheedles, wiggling his brows at Shiro, who looks utterly unimpressed. 

 

“Don’t,” Shiro begins, grasping Lance by the chin and aggressively smashing their lips together before pulling away, “start.”

 

“Oh Captain, my Captain!” Lance says to a background of laughter from his sisters.

 

They’re quiet for a while, people chattering and catching up in the background. It doesn’t last long.

 

“So, Shiro, how often does Lance cry during s-”

 

“ _Rachel_ , I swear to God,” Veronica interrupts. “Peel your damn apples!” 

 

“Uhm, you’re not my real dad,” Rachel answers, but starts peeling anyway. 

 

“I can’t believe you’re leaving tomorrow,” Veronica says, and Lance’s smile falls away. 

 

“I, for one, am so _thankful_ we don’t have to put up with him for another day longer, but I’ll miss Shiro--”

 

“Oh,” Shiro says. 

 

“...’s ass. I’ll miss your ass,” Rachel finishes, and Shiro rolls his eyes heavenward. 

 

“We’re all fooled by her sometimes-- don’t let it get to you,” Veronica says, patting him on the arm. 

 

“I wish we didn’t have to go so soon,” Lance admits, glumly throwing a chunk of potato into his bowl. 

 

“You’re doing really important work,” Veronica says, though she looks unhappy. 

 

“So did you find the birthmark on Lance’s--”

 

“Rachel!” Veronica yells, and the arguing begins anew. 

 

“How’s it looking?” his mom asks, a few minutes later, when they’ve all settled again. 

 

“Good,” everyone answers, as if they haven’t been considering stabbing each other with their peeling knives.

 

They make it through peeling just fine, and are directed to construct different parts of different recipes at different times. Lance’s feet are hurting by the time dinner rolls around, and he’s sure Shiro is exhausted of repeating himself to new family members who haven’t met him yet. 

 

Dinner itself is chaos. There are way too many children shrieking at the kid’s table (poor Rachel forced to lose her spot at the adult table since Shiro is here and Lance can _feel_ the evil eye on him), and everyone is arguing over who gets first pick of whatever food first. 

 

Shiro is sitting quietly, taking it all in. Lance nudges him. 

 

“If you don’t get aggressive about your food, there won’t be any left. Uncle Rico _will_ eat your portion if you’re not quick on the draw,” he explains, dumping food on Shiro’s plate, and then his own. 

 

“I don’t think I’ve ever been surrounded by so many people in my life,” Shiro admits, despite the fact that they _live_ at the Garrison and eat at the cafeteria every day. It’s just that he’s never been surrounded by so many _crazy_ people in his life. Lance smiles to himself and then he spots Luis grabbing an extra portion of roll and tries to stab him with a fork. 

 

They’re all settling into eating when his Aunt Rita speaks up. Lance should’ve seen it coming, considering she’s been eyeballing him and Shiro since she arrived. 

 

“When I was your age, Lance, I was _quite_ the looker--”

 

“Oh bullshit, Rita, you looked like a middle school teacher--”

 

“How dare you--”

 

“--you old sweater wearing, coke-bottle glasses having ass--”

 

“Here we go,” Lance says, and watches everyone devolve into back and forth arguing. Shiro is still eating at least, seemingly transfixed by the number of people clamoring to talk over one another.

 

“As I was saying,” Aunt Rita says above the din, “I was quite the looker. I had boys lining up to be with me--”

 

“Lining up to get a library card--”

 

“--AND!” She goes on, despite the insult. “I was the first sister out of seven to be proposed to.”

 

“That’s lovely, Aunt Rita,” Lance says, if only to mollify her. 

 

“So, when is Shiro proposing?” she asks, and Shiro barely stops himself from spitting out the liquid he’d been trying to swallow.

 

“My thoughts exactly!” his mom urges, and Lance groans, hiding his face in Shiro’s shoulder. The whole point of this trip was to stave off marriage talk and yet...

 

The chorus of voices talking over one another starts again, and Lance is at least thankful they seem to distract one another well enough that he doesn’t have to answer that _or_ force Shiro to answer it either. If the ground wanted to swallow him up, that’d be fine. 

 

“Still, though,” one of his uncles says, “it makes you wonder what Shiro saw in Lance to take him as a partner.”

 

“What does _that_ mean?” Lance asks on his own behalf, hearing the thinly veiled insult. 

 

“I’m just saying that you’re no Lu--”

 

“Choose your words carefully, Uncle Santi,” Lance warns. He has dirt on Uncle Santi to last a lifetime. 

 

“I was only joking,” his uncle answers wisely, seeing the murderous intent in his gaze. 

 

“What _did_ you see in Lance, Shiro?” Marco asks, and Lance, stricken by the betrayal, glares at him. 

 

“I’m a _perfectly_ nice boy!” Lance says, only stopping when he feels Shiro’s hand on his arm. 

 

“It’s fine, Lance.” He turns towards the table, addressing the entire family. Everyone has quieted, blinking at him intently. 

 

“Lance is incredible,” he begins, glancing briefly at Lance. “He’s always been… well, to risk sounding cheesy, a lot like the stars.” Shiro looks down at his plate, cheeks turning rosy as he speaks. “He burns so brightly all the time.”

 

Shiro is looking at him now. 

 

“I’ve spent my entire life chasing after the stars, learning about them, naming them, studying them entirely, but being near him? It’s like constantly having all my wishes come true.”

 

Lance’s chest tightens painfully, and he bites his lip to stop the words that want to come tumbling out in response. He knows Shiro is playing his part, but does he have to make it so damn believable? 

 

“Gay-eeeeeeeee,” Rachel says from the kid’s table.

 

“Cállate! Shiro… that was beautiful,” his mom says, wiping at her eyes.

 

“C’mon,” Luis ribs, “you’re telling me _this_ sucker wooed you somehow? He doesn’t do _anything_ embarrassing?”

 

“Well… I didn’t say _that_ ,” Shiro says, winking at Lance. “He once got stuck in an air duct trying to sneak out of the Garrison--”

 

“That was _one_ time! I messed up the map somehow--”

 

“It was impressive, considering the whole school thought he’d gone missing until someone heard him yelling through the vent in their room. Well, they say he was actually singing--”

 

“Now _that_ sounds more like Lance,” Luis says, more smug than he has any right to be. 

 

“Lover mine,” Lance addresses Shiro, narrowing his eyes at him. “Let us not forget the time you tried to help Pidge out in the lab and ended up blowing off your eyebrows.”

 

“That was Pidge’s fault,” Shiro explains, one hand reaching up to touch his eyebrows, as if he’s remembering the feeling of them being gone. It had been a hard time for him, and for everyone. 

 

“I offered to draw in his eyebrows for him, but he didn’t let me. It took _weeks_ for them to grow back-- lookin’ all patchy and burnt. He wore a lot of sunglasses.”

 

“If we’re going there,” Shiro challenges, and Lance swallows impulsively (mind running through all the dumb shit he’s done while away from home), “we should mention that time with the pool.”

 

“Shiro--”

 

“It was a particularly hot summer in Arizona and the A/C unit at the school was busted. Lance and Keith, one of our co-workers, tried to make a pool with a tarp _in the air_.”

 

“Oh son…” Lance’s dad says, covering his eyes with a hand. 

 

“Listen--”

 

“It held up only long enough for Lance to _cannonball_ in.”

 

Luis is howling with laughter, beating at the table with his palm. Lisa rolls her eyes. 

 

“Shirooooo,” Lance whines, his fingers digging into Shiro’s arm. 

 

The conversation around them dissolves into embarrassing anecdotes, but Lance doesn’t pay it any mind. 

 

“You started it,” Shiro says, though he’s smiling at Lance. The impulse to press a kiss against his curving lips is no longer startling, though it’s harder to resist. 

 

“No, _you_ did. Go back to calling me cooler than space,” Lance wheedles.

 

“I didn’t say that.”

 

“You might as well have.” Lance shoots him a shit-eating grin. 

 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

 

Dinner goes and, with it, some of the family that’s blown in. They all have their own Christmas traditions, and some of them have to visit other family still— in-laws and such. 

 

Nadia and Sylvio have tired themselves out, Luis and Lisa having carried them home an hour ago with a ‘Merry Christmas’ and a goodnight. 

 

Everyone else is enjoying dessert and drinks in the kitchen. He can hear their muffled laughter from here. 

 

Lance has secluded himself in the living room with Shiro, enjoying the alone time and recovering from being surrounded by so many people all day. Ever since Veronica mentioned their departure tomorrow, Lance has been on edge. The longer the night goes on, the more distracted he feels. This will be... their last night in the same bed, the last time to touch each other so familiarly. 

 

He’s been avoiding thinking about the end of this, because it feels unbearable. 

 

Lance’s gaze trail towards Shiro, unbidden. He’s been circling the living room slowly, nursing a drink in his hands. His eyes linger on pictures lined along the fireplace, no doubt of Lance with skinned knees and a toothy grin, his fingers barely touching the mantle. 

 

Lance watches him make the circuit, allowing him to quench his curiosity. He hopes Shiro has had a nice Christmas. What would he have been doing had he not been here? Would he have been alone at the Garrison? Would he have been _lonely_? 

 

He breaks his imaginings when Shiro sets his glass on the table next to the couch, looking down at him. He looks so young in the dim lighting, warm Christmas lights blinking slowly off and on, casting shadows all the while.  

 

“You wanna dance?” Shiro asks, extending a hand to him. He’s smiling affectionately, a grin that reaches his eyes and softens his features. 

 

There he goes again— Lance’s heart somersaults, an indefinable feeling spreading through his chest. It’s like liquid honey, warming him from the inside-out, and he bites his lip, accepting the hand. 

 

Shiro pulls him to the middle of the living room, and Lance is glad that the rest of the family has migrated to the dining room for dessert. Something about this seems… important— different. There’s no one here to see them, no pretending to be done, but Shiro has asked him to dance anyway… like… like he _wants_ to. 

 

His ma’s Christmas classics are playing— something slow and romantic filtering through her outdated stereo system. Shiro slides a hand down his waist, around to his lower back, his other hand covering Lance’s and pulling it to his chest, holding it there. Lance can feel his cheeks heating up, hopes his face isn’t blotchy red. 

 

Lance isn’t sure _what_ his face is doing, honestly, whether it’s filled with the emotions he’s feeling or if he’s hiding it well. Right now, he doesn’t care. Here, now, pressed together so closely, he only cares about Shiro, the look on _his_ face, the sway of his body. 

 

‘ _You’re all I want for Christmas, all I want my whole life through,’_ the song croons, and Shiro hums along, smiling. 

 

Lance smiles back without much thought, memorizing every detail of Shiro’s face in this moment. From the wrinkles around his eyes, the scar across his nose, the shape of his lips, and the dark of his eyelashes, Lance commits it to memory, hoping he’ll remember it for the rest of his life. Even if he doesn’t mean the same to Shiro as Shiro means to him— he never wants to forget how it feels to be so in love, and to be in the arms of the man he loves. 

 

Swallowing, he turns his face into Shiro’s neck, his eyes welling up. He closes them, breathing in. 

 

‘ _You're all I want for Christmas, and if all my dreams come true…_ ’ 

 

For just a moment, he wants to pretend that this is _real_. Every moment with Shiro has been a revelation. He’s never felt happier, and yet never been in so much pain as he has pretending to be with someone he really, truly wants to be with. 

 

Shiro deserves so much. He deserves better than Lance, who can’t even tell his family the truth about being single. Immature, rough around the edges, self-centered... Shiro needs an equal— someone who gives as good as he gets. 

 

_‘Then I'll awake on Christmas morning and find my stocking filled with you.’_

 

For now though, he pretends like he’s the one who was made for Shiro, and Shiro for him. 

 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

 

His eyes are still open by the time morning comes, fingers gripping Shiro’s sleep shirt tightly. He’s been counting breaths and listening to a heartbeat that he’ll likely never hear again. 

 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

  


“Are you sure you can’t stay until New Years’?” his mom frets, a frown settling into the fine lines of her face. “Leaving the day after Christmas seems unnecessary.” 

 

Lance finishes folding a newly laundered shirt, stuffing it in his suitcase. 

 

“I would stay if I could, Ma,” Lance admits, really wishing he could. He barely understands how he’s feeling lately, but the comfort he finds here at home would be appreciated as he navigates through… whatever this is. Lovesickness? Pining? Heartbreak? 

 

Staying would let him pretend just a little bit longer. Shiro would be his a little bit longer. 

 

“Why do you have to leave so soon?” she asks. She’s so upset. 

 

“We’re lucky we got Christmas off at all. This mission is really important.” 

 

“I just miss you. You’re growing up without me,” his mom says, sounding small. Lance stops moving, looking at her drawn features. He reaches for her, pulling her into an embrace.

 

“I miss you so much,” Lance confesses. “I don’t know what do without you sometimes.”

 

She sniffles. “I’m your mom, that’s how you’re supposed to feel without me.”

 

Lance laughs, hugging her tighter. He pulls away, holding her by the arms.

 

“I already convinced Shiro to come back with me next year. It’ll be great.” 

 

He doesn’t know if that’s true. Being near Shiro like this is difficult and by next year? He doesn’t know what’s going to happen by then. 

 

“For your birthday?” 

 

“Yep!” he says, wiping a tear from her cheek and wishing he could do anything else to make her happy. “Something to look forward to.”

 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

 

It’s a somber affair, packing up the van and saying goodbye. Sylvio and Nadia cling to his legs, snotty-nosed, and red-eyed and begging him to stay. 

 

“It’s never long enough,” his dad says when they hug, which makes it hard for Lance not to cry, lip wobbling pitifully. 

 

Luis’ eyes are as red as his children’s and he kisses Lance’s forehead, making him promise to call more often. Marco hugs him tightly. 

 

“I hope to see more Instagram posts with you and Shiro,” Rachel says when she crowds his space. “Otherwise, dishonor on your cow.”

 

“You take that back,” Lance says, even as he’s moving to embrace her. He’s said his goodbyes to Kaltenecker early this morning at feeding time. Rachel sighs, tucking her chin over his shoulder. 

 

Lance can see his family shaking hands and hugging Shiro, who looks remarkably downcast. 

 

“I miss you,” she says, squeezing him.

 

“I miss you,” he replies. 

 

Lisa doesn’t even try to hide her tears as she takes her turn, but she doesn’t say a word as she pulls Nadia and Sylvio away. She’s never been good at saying goodbye. 

 

“Did you tell your grandma goodbye?” his mom finally says when it’s her turn. She adjusts the collar of his coat, smoothing the lapels. 

 

“Yeah,” he answers, voice thick in his throat. She’d been sleepy, but smiling when he kissed her cheek and told her he’d be back soon. 

 

“Don’t start crying, or I won’t stop,” his mother instructs, though her eyes are already suspiciously shiny. 

 

“I love you, Mom.” 

 

She clasps his face in her hands. 

 

“I love you.” She smiles. “Bring Shiro back with you, hear me? He’s a good man.” 

 

“I will,” he lies. Empty words for heavy hearts. 

 

“Good. Be safe. Call me when you get home.” 

 

Driving away is always hard. He watches Sylvio and Nadia chase the van until they can’t anymore. 

 

Veronica drops them off at the same airport, remaining steady even as they part ways. 

 

When she’s gone, Shiro stops them from going further, holding Lance’s shoulders at arms-length. 

 

Lance looks up at him, and the look on Shiro’s face urges him into tears. 

 

Shiro holds him as the crowd moves around them. 

 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

 

Being back at the Garrison is surreal, even as Lance flops onto his bed and stares at a ceiling more familiar to him than even his home. He’s been here for _years_ , but the feeling is all wrong. There’s no warmth or presence to the cold, sterile environment and the only thing Lance wants to do is knock on Shiro’s door and crawl under his sheets. 

 

He feels heartsick, wishing Hunk were already home so he could bother him instead. Crying isn’t an option, because he already feels too washed out. He settles, instead, for clutching his shirt above his chest and running through the entire vacation in his mind. It hadn’t been long, but it was _enough_ to flip his whole world upside down. 

 

Despite how exhausted he feels, sleep evades him for a long time. 

 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

 

Lance is putting off sleep again (because when he tries, lately, it eludes him) when there’s a knock at his bedroom door. He groans, throwing himself up to answer it. 

 

He presses the button to open the electronic door, blinking in surprise at the visitor. 

 

“Hey,” Shiro says, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck. He looks… nervous.  

 

“Hi,” Lance answers, almost breathless. He didn’t expect it to be Shiro at his door. They haven’t talked to each other for three days and Lance was starting to think maybe Shiro was simply avoiding him. Not surprising to Lance, but it still hurt… a lot. 

 

“Sorry-- this is-- it’s late,” Shiro finishes lamely. 

 

“It’s fine,” Lance hurries to say, holding the door tightly before moving aside in offering. “Wanna come in?”

 

“Yeah,” Shiro answers, moving into the room. Before Christmas, Lance might’ve been nervous about him being in his personal space, but now? Now it feels good. Feels organic. 

 

Shiro sits on Lance’s bed, drawing one leg close to himself. He looks completely at ease, a strange juxtaposition of the person Lance has seen, briefly, stalking through their workspace. 

 

“We haven’t seen much of each other,” Shiro says, face contorting into an apologetic grimace. 

 

“We’ve both been… working.” It’s a shitty excuse, but not untrue. Shiro nods, looking down at his hands. 

 

“I, uh… haven’t been sleeping well,” he says. 

 

Something like relief surges through Lance, though that seems cruel. He doesn’t wish for Shiro to suffer but that he seems to be as lost as Lance feels? Maybe that’s something.

 

“Me neither,” he says on a sigh, slouching at the admission. 

 

“I think I got used to sleeping beside someone,” Shiro admits, though he doesn’t look at Lance when he says it. It sends a stab of hope through Lance’s traitorous heart. 

 

“Me too. I didn’t have your snoring to lull me to sleep. It’s like white noise,” Lance says, going for light-hearted. 

 

“Is that right?” Shiro asks, smile playing on his lips as he finally looks in Lance’s eyes. 

 

“Yeah, like this--” Lance proceeds to do a poor imitation of how Shiro sleeps, complete with obnoxious snoring. 

 

“Is that what I sound like?” Shiro asks, genuinely laughing. “I do not.”

 

“Nope-- that’s what you sound like 100%.”

 

Their laughter trails off before Lance sucks in a breath through his nose. 

 

“Alright. C’mon,” Lance directs, crawling underneath his covers and scooting as close to the wall as he can. It feels cold against his back, but he pats the space he’s left open anyway. 

 

Shiro looks at him in surprise but shakes his head with a grin, making a piece of Lance that was coiled tight unravel as he slips under the covers. Lance motions for him to shut the table lamp off.

 

“Just so we can get some sleep and not be completely useless at work,” Lance says, giving Shiro an excuse if he needs one, though it means _so_ much more to him that Shiro is here. He settles against Shiro’s side, relishing the heat of him, the feeling of their skin touching. 

 

“Mmm,” Shiro hums, yawning as he tucks an arm around Lance. 

 

It’s startling how quickly he feels himself relaxing, every tense muscle releasing as his hand finds Shiro’s heartbeat. 

 

“Lance,” Shiro says into the relative dark.

 

“Yeah?” he asks around a yawn. 

 

“Thanks.”

 

Lance drums his fingers against Shiro’s chest, wondering what would happen if he were courageous enough to ask to _talk_ about this. 

 

“No problem.”

 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

 

“Earth to Lance,” Pidge says, pulling Lance out of his daydream. He blinks at her, taking in her worried features. 

 

“Sorry,” he says, though he doesn’t really feel much of anything. It’s been about a week since they got back and three days since Shiro crawled into his bed. There’s hardly been time to regroup and gain his bearings. Sam has been working them like crazy because of a recent breakthrough. The only thing he’s been able to do is try to keep up with his hygiene and eating habits. Sleep consists of him collapsing into his bed with his day clothes still on. 

 

He doesn’t begrudge Sam for having work and he doesn’t begrudge Shiro for being suspiciously unavailable anytime Lance has gone looking for him. 

 

He had wondered, all throughout their time together, if it might be awkward once they got back. Shiro’s absence is as good of an answer as any. Somehow he knew it might be like this. Maybe Shiro realized—

 

He cuts his own thoughts off abruptly, not wanting to even _think_ about it. 

 

“Alright,” Pidge says, pressing her hands against her work table. “What happened?”

 

“Nothing… Nothing happened,” he answers, hand coming up to grip his arm defensively. 

 

“You haven’t talked to Shiro,” she muses. “In fact, I haven’t seen either of you talk to each other.” 

 

He forgets how perceptive Pidge can be sometimes. 

 

“It doesn’t matter. He was really good with my family and saved me a lot of trouble.” He shrugs. 

 

“You said you loved him.”

 

Lance looks at her sharply. 

 

“Hunk told me,” she says, apologetic at least. Hunk has never been very good at keeping secrets, just like he’s not very good at _not_ being nosy. He’s never held it against Hunk, but maybe right now it hurts just a little bit. 

 

“Lance… _do_ you?”

 

“It _doesn’t matter_ ,” he answers. He looks away, trying to keep his anguish from his voice. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

 

“He’s just been busy. We all have,” Pidge says anyway. 

 

“I _know_ that,” he emphasizes, probably more harshly than he normally would’ve. “Pidge. _Please_.” He wouldn’t beg her like this at any other time, but this is too close to his heart not to hurt him. 

 

“At least talk to him before you--” her frustration is apparent in the tone of her voice, and by the grounding breath she takes before she continues. “At least talk to him?”

 

Lance stands, pushing away from the table. 

 

“If he has the time.”

 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

 

“Hey,” Keith greets him, pushing Lance’s legs out of the chair he’s had them up on so he can sit across from him at the table.

 

“Hey,” Lance grunts, though he’s distracted by the paper he’s writing. It’s just a translation of something involved with the project. It probably would’ve been passed off if Lance hadn’t been able to do it, but he’d wanted the distraction and volunteered for it before it could be. 

 

“You coming to the party tonight or are you going to avoid Shiro forever?”

 

That stops Lance up short, his fingers pausing on the keyboard in front of him. 

 

“Why does everyone think _I’m_ avoiding _him?_ Every time I go looking for him, he’s not around.”

 

“You’re not really trying all that hard,” Keith says, though not harshly. He seems, if anything, disinterested, which makes Lance bristle. 

 

“I don’t need whatever the hell this is,” he says, continuing with his typing. 

 

“Y’know, when I saw that picture Hunk showed me, I was pretty surprised. I haven’t seen Shiro laughing like that in a long time.”

 

“What’s your _point?_ ” Lance asks, patience wearing thin. He doesn’t want to think about Shiro anymore, and Keith has always known every single way to press his buttons. 

 

“My _point_ is that now he’s not smiling _at all_ ,” Keith says, slamming his laptop shut. Lance opens his mouth in rebuke, but Keith keeps talking. “Which you’d _notice_ if you were around. You wanna know what I think? I think you’re afraid. I think you’re terrified of what he’s gonna say. Didn’t take you for a coward, McClain.”

 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

 

Lance wishes he believed that. Keith doesn’t call him on, but his face clears as he just _looks_ at Lance. 

 

“Come to the party. It’s New Year’s. You shouldn’t be alone,” Keith says gruffly, scooting his chair back with a screech. 

 

His words hang heavy in the air even after he’s gone.

 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

 

Even though his heart is threatening to jump out of his skin, he goes to the stupid party on the stupid roof. The stupid staff plans one every year and it’d be weird and obvious if Lance didn’t attend because he _always_ attends and usually in a big way. It’s _stupid._

 

“Hey, buddy!” Hunk greets when he arrives, shoving a red solo cup at him. Predictably, it’s full of cheap champagne. Good. 

 

Downing it quickly only makes him feel a little better. He studiously ignores the urge to lift himself onto his tiptoes to scan the crowd for Shiro. Even when they haven’t been in each other’s presence, the tension between them has become palpable. Lance _has_ been avoiding the inevitable fallout. 

 

The roof has been decorated with twining, sparkling string lights. Gold and black decorations line nearly everything, and they’ve placed a gold and black checkered floor out for dancing. 

 

There are a few tables lined with food and drinks, including the DJ booth. 

 

“You okay?” Hunk asks and Lance nods, though his quiet is probably what’s freaking Hunk out. 

 

“Yeah,” he forces himself to answer around the lump in his throat, “is everyone here?”

 

“Pidge is trying to hack into the DJ system so she can play some good music. Dude just played ‘Have You Ever Been Mellow?’ by Olivia Newton-John, which followed ‘Can’t Touch This’ by MC Hammer.”

 

“Sorry I missed it,” Lance says, grinning. “If only we could get him to play the Cha Cha Slide.” 

 

“Don’t give him any ideas,” Pidge says as she appears at his elbow. Matt raises his chin in greeting beside her. “Anyway, my playlist is uploading and replacing his as we speak.”

 

“Nice going, Pidge,” Hunk says, high-fiving her. 

 

“Where’s Keith?” Pidge asks. 

 

“Right here,” Keith says, and Lance does not startle or squeal. 

 

“You piece of sh-”

 

“SO,” Hunk says, “think we’re gonna make any new legends tonight? El Chupacabra is getting old. This champagne is pretty bad, not gonna lie, but there’s _a lot of it_.” 

 

“So there is,” Lance says, procuring an entire bottle. 

 

“Dude, where did you get that?” Hunk asks, mystified. His face scrunches up. “Where were you hiding it?”

 

Lance wiggles his brows but doesn’t say. That makes Hunk’s face change from confusion to pure horror. 

 

He passes the bottle to Keith, who pops it open like someone who is… not cool in any way. 

 

Pouring them all a glass, he sets the empty bottle on the ground. 

 

“To Kerberos,” Hunk proposes, lifting his red solo cup. 

 

“To Kerberos,” they echo, tapping their cups together. 

 

Pidge’s playlist begins playing and they break into boisterous cheering. The DJ seems confused but goes with it (like it was his idea) when everyone else starts cheering too. 

 

But when they migrate to the dance floor, Lance’s eyes keep skirting the sidelines, looking for a familiar shock of white hair. If anyone notices his distraction, they don’t say anything, though Lance can feel Hunk watching him carefully. 

 

They all mingle and trade stories with other faculty when dancing makes them too sweaty and out of breath to continue. Lance is deep in conversation (arguing) with Sablan when Hunk taps him on the shoulder, drawing his eyes towards where Shiro has appeared. 

 

His heart lurches into his throat. It doesn’t make sense. He’s gotten to know this man, is in _love_ with this man, and still, he’s terrified of him. No— not _of him_ , but of the power that he holds. He would give Shiro his entire heart and Shiro could crush it as easy as breathing. Not that he would on purpose but he _could_ and maybe he wouldn’t even _notice_. 

 

Damn it, he _hates_ it when Keith is right. 

 

He’s about to turn tail and run when Hunk grabs him up, planting his hands firmly on his shoulders. 

 

“I know you don’t want to talk about this but I don’t think it’s going to end as badly as you think it will,” Hunk says, eyes glittering. 

 

“I can’t do this,” Lance whines, shaking his body around as butterflies explode in his belly. 

 

“Yes you can,” Keith urges. “If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for Shiro.”

 

“But what if he-- what if--?”

 

“It’s not gonna be like that,” Pidge says. “Trust me.”

 

“And if it is?” Lance challenges. 

 

“We’ll be there for you,” Hunk answers simply. 

 

“Fine, but if I do this-- you have to tell Keith about how you feel, bye.” The last part comes out in a rush, and he escapes just as Keith turns to look at Hunk, confusion written on his features. Pidge is grinning widely, giving Lance a thumbs up. 

 

Shiro is chatting with Iverson when Lance sidles up, feigning as much confidence as he can even though it feels like he’s plummeting into great depths. 

 

“Watch yourself, Shirogane,” Iverson says when he approaches. Lance holds his chest as if he’s been wounded. 

 

“I’m a visionary--”

 

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?

 

“--and a saint. Anything you’ve ever seen me do is for the less fortunate.”

 

“So all those times you sneak out?”

 

“For the less fortunate-- me being the less fortunate in that particular scenario.” Lance glances at Shiro, finding him trying not to laugh. His lips are pressed together, eyes sparkling with mirth. 

 

“I’ll take it from here, Iverson,” Shiro says. “Walk with me?”

 

“Sure,” Lance says, squashing the thrill that goes through him when Shiro’s hand lands on his lower back, guiding him into the building and down the stairs. The hallway they stop in is deserted and Shiro opens a set of windows so the music and chatting can be faintly heard. 

 

“You’ve been sleeping?” Shiro asks, sitting on the alcove by the window.  

 

“With how hard Sam’s been riding us--”

 

“ _Lance,_ ” Shiro says in fond exasperation.

 

“--it’s been kinda hard not to. I’m dead by the time I see my bedspread.” He pauses. “I’m a poet and I didn’t even know that I would rhyme like that.” 

 

Shiro shakes his head, not able to keep the grin from his features. 

 

“Have you talked to your family?”

 

“We have a group chat, but mostly it’s just been Rachel talking shit.”

 

“That sounds like her,” Shiro says. 

 

A silence lapses in behind them and it takes all of ten seconds before Lance sighs explosively. 

 

“I can’t _do_ this.”

 

Shiro startles, blinking over at Lance who starts pacing frantically.

 

“I knew it was a bad idea from the start because it was _Matt_ but I was so desperate to avoid the pity I would’ve gotten if I went alone that I just accepted!” Lance starts, words spilling out of his mouth before he can stop them. “I _knew_ I was attracted to you and I _knew_ I would fall in love with you, but I just couldn’t say _no_.”

 

“What?” Shiro asks, standing abruptly. 

 

“It wasn’t supposed to happen. I’ve been trying to keep you at arm’s length--”

 

“Lance--”

 

“Because you’re _you_ and God, you’re _such_ a-- everything about you is-- I can’t even explain it! I feel like I’m going out of my mind trying to quash this-- this--” he grips his own shirt above his chest, tears springing to his eyes, “this _black hole_ that’s threatening to pull me inside out just _thinking about you_.”

 

“Lance.”

 

“And I _know_ you could never feel that way about me because-- because I’m _me_ , but I’m so selfish and I took advantage of the situation and now I can’t-- I _can’t_ , Shiro, I can’t act like you’re just my co-worker or my friend--”

 

“Enough!” Shiro shouts, and Lance freezes up, turning wide eyes towards Shiro. 

 

“What do you think I’ve been doing, Lance?” Shiro asks, something desperate and wild behind his eyes as he steps into Lance’s space. “How clear do I have to be?”

 

“About-- about what?” Lance asks, something tumultuous building up in his chest. His ribs might crack from the pressure. His heart might stop from the hope. 

 

“I--” Shiro stops, running a hand through his hair, “I offered to be your fake boyfriend on _Christmas_.”

 

Lance is so confused. He already _knows_ that. 

 

“I didn’t do it so you could lie to your family, Lance. I did it so I could be near you.”

 

“W-why?” Lance asks, tears clinging to his thick lashes. He swallows, licking his lips as he waits for Shiro to explain. 

 

“You make me feel… a thousand times lighter just by being in the room. Christmas is usually terrible for me, but the thought of spending it with you made me _happy_. You still make me feel that way, but there are so many other things that you make me feel.”

 

“I’m…,” Lance begins, “I’m not--”

 

He can’t even say it. He’s not the person Shiro thinks he is. He’s not enough for him. 

 

“Whatever you’re thinking,” Shiro says, “it’s wrong. This time that I’ve spent with you has been some of the most relaxing times I’ve ever had. I’ve been _happy_. I’ve been… more myself than I’ve ever been. Before this, I wouldn’t have even admitted that I wasn’t doing okay.” 

 

“You just needed a break,” Lance points out, wiping at his face. 

 

“Lance,” Shiro sighs, shoulders falling. He steps forward, lifting gentle hands to either side Lance’s neck, running his thumbs along his jawline. Lance closes his eyes, more tears slipping out unbidden, gripping Shiro’s wrists tightly. “Look at me.”

 

He opens his eyes, heart skipping at the tender look in Shiro’s gaze.

 

“I think it’s safe to say that _I’m_ in love with _you_ ,” he says, and Lance’s lower lip trembles. He can’t help it— the tears come in earnest, streaming down his cheeks. There’s nothing to describe how he’s feeling— the disbelief, the fear, the love he feels for Shiro in return. It’s a dichotomy of emotions that have him reeling, dizzy in the face of it. 

 

Shiro lifts his hands to Lance’s face, swiping tears away from his eyes. 

 

“How you doing? You with me?” he asks, gentle and so patient. 

 

“I--” he hiccups, “I love you, Shiro. I love you.” 

 

“Oh, good,” Shiro murmurs, hands still framing Lance’s face as his eyes fall to Lance’s mouth. He leans in so slowly that Lance feels he might vibrate out of his own skin and even still his lips catch at Lance’s but go no further, hovering with the barest touch. 

 

Lance’s eyes close as Shiro’s breath mingles with his own, mouth falling open as he waits. The noise that Lance makes the minute Shiro makes up his mind to move would be really embarrassing if he had any thought left that Shiro hasn’t laid to waste. 

 

Shiro is _really_ kissing him— not in some attempt to tell an untruth, but because he _loves_ him. 

 

That in itself sends a coiling wave of fire singing through him, curling his toes in his shoes where he stands. Then Shiro licks into his mouth and Lance is open for him, pliant and wanton and starving for it. 

 

He lets Shiro back him up against the wall, lets him press in close and consume him completely, tongues meshing and twirling. The kiss is something in and of itself, something tenuous that grows more desperate the longer their mouths part and they share breath. 

 

He has no idea what to do with his hands, other than to clutch at Shiro, to wind them into Shiro’s hair in order to keep him close and closer still. 

 

The imprint of Shiro’s grin against the side of his mouth makes him smile in answer and their teeth clack as they move back in, starting again. 

 

They lose track of time, kissing languidly and then arduously, chins bumping, noses nudging. They part for breath but nothing else, as if they can’t-- won’t-- be further apart than this, now. 

 

It’s only the sudden cracking boom of fireworks that jolt them back into reality. There are ringing echoes of the party above screaming ‘Happy New Year!’ and they look into each other’s eyes at the same time, breaking into laughter. 

 

Lance pulls Shiro to him, simply holding him close. 

 

“Can’t believe you met my crazy family and still want to be with me,” he says, and Shiro laughs in his ear, grabbing him up and spinning him around and around. 

 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

 

“I _am_ the Senate!” Pidge yells, tackling Matt onto the floor. Hunk busts out laughing from his spot on the couch, Keith sitting snugly by his side, their fingers intertwined. 

 

Lance hands Shiro the bowl of popcorn he’s just popped, kissing him lightly when his phone starts ringing before he can sit down. 

 

“I’ll be right back,” he says, finding a quiet place. 

 

“Hello?”

 

“Hey, loser—”

 

“Cállate! Hello baby—”

 

“Waddup Lance,” Luis cuts in, and Lance rolls his eyes, smiling despite himself. 

 

“We saw your new picture on the Instagram,” his mom says, pronouncing Instagram completely wrong. 

 

“It actually looks good, I’m so proud,” Rachel says, though he hears a slap and a muffled, ‘ow’. 

 

“Don’t interrupt,” his mom says. “You look so happy.”

 

Lance looks back at his family away from family, watching Shiro pulling Pidge away from her brother as Matt shrieks. 

 

“I am happy. I’m _really_ happy.” 

 

“How is Shiro?” his mom asks. 

 

“He’s _foine—_ ”

 

_“Rachel_ ,” his mom warns. 

 

“He’s happy, too. He won’t stop talking about your food, though. I think he misses it.” 

 

“He’s welcome back anytime for seconds,” his mom says, warm and sincere. 

 

“I’ll let him know. Maybe we can Facetime soon, when everyone’s around.”

 

“I’ll have Veronica show me how! We all miss you.”

 

“I miss you, too,” he says. 

 

“Well, I know you’re busy, but I just wanted to hear your voice. We’ll do the Facetime soon?”

 

“Yeah, Mom.”

 

“Love you, honey.”

 

“Love you.”

 

“Bye bye--”

 

“Bye ugly--”

 

“Miss you, bro!”

 

“Bye,” he says, and presses end.

 

“Hey,” Shiro says when Lance strolls back over. “Everything okay?”

 

Lance presses a kiss to his lips, settling beside him. 

 

“Yeah,” he says, absolutely meaning it. “Everything’s perfect.” 

 

**Author's Note:**

> *Lance's grandmother is based on my great-grandmother, who has Alzheimer's. I took care of her for a while when she broke her ankle after a fall and she was a hoot. Her infamous "woo woo woo" of excitement when she saw a hot dude still makes me laugh. 
> 
> *Lance's father's anecdote story is based on a true story. My father and my grandfather were both high af, but they broke down on the side of the road. They ended up getting out of the car and trying to fix it. My dad was so concentrated on fixing it that he didn't notice the cop car pulling up behind them. The cop used a speaker on his car to ask if they needed help and my dad was literally so high, he legit thought God was talking to him. 
> 
> *Shiro's taste in music is an ode to MiniShimi!


End file.
